


Might Makes Right

by Inactive_Account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Police, Child Abandonment, Childhood Trauma, Dark Lance (Voltron), Eventual Happy Ending, Extremely Dubious Consent, Grooming, M/M, MAP character, Mpreg, Offending MAP, Pedophilia, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Therapy, Underage - Adult/Minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inactive_Account/pseuds/Inactive_Account
Summary: Lance enjoyed his job as a police officer. He never once abused his position of trust; those urges he knew were so wrong were the urges he repressed and fought back, until one day he ran into a four-year old runaway named Keith. The small child provided too much a temptation, and - before Lance knew it - he was down a rabbit hole of sin and crime.For Lance it was a few moments of pleasure, but for Keith it was a lifetime of trauma.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1 - 3 contain depictions of graphic adult/minor content.
> 
> Chapter 8 contains minor/minor content.

“Yo, are you lost?”

Lance smiled down at the child. The small boy stood alone in the park; the red jacket was a little too small for him, so that it revealed the skin-tight black shirt about his waist, and the fingerless gloves looked a little too mature for him. He must have been five or six at most, not much taller than Lance’s knee, but there was a wisdom behind those grey-blue eyes that spoke of a rough upbringing and possible abandonment. A cut decorated his cheek.

It was shallow, but noticeable on such pale skin. There were also grimy patches to his clothes and dirt upon his skin, as if he were sleeping rough for some time, and – as Lance searched his memory – he remembered a man in the desert who abandoned his home. The child was reported as home alone by customers who used the man as a cheap mechanic, but had vanished by the time the police came to investigate. There was a vague report of someone seeing a child alone heading into town, but no other leads.

Lance knelt down and winked at the child. He would have to take him back to the station, where social services would get involved, but something deep inside him rebelled at the idea, as he wondered whether a detour would be noticed. There was a spark of arousal that he couldn’t quite squash; he looked around in hopes of another soul, someone that could stand witness and force him into check, but there was no one in the empty park.

“Hey, my name’s Lance. You’re Keith, right?”

The boy took a step back; he was exactly Lance’s type, enough so that a spark of guilt and shame swept through him, and he swallowed hard in fear that Keith might catch how he stared, with eyes lingering over lithe thighs and pert buttocks. He listened to how his heart raced, as he forced a smile and tried to look as unassuming as possible. Lance tapped the badge on his chest. Those tiny eyes narrowed and swept over the badge, likely too young to be able to read the words, and certainly too young for flirtations or touches.

“Who’s asking?” Keith asked.

“Well, I’m a police officer,” said Lance. “Your dad ran out a few days back, right? We’ve been looking for you. I guess you ran away because you were hungry and scared, but the streets are a bad place for a kid! You could meet some really scary people. Why don’t I take you to the station? We can get you some food and maybe watch some cartoons.”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger, though, am I? I’m Lance!” He tapped his badge again. “Your pops told you that you can talk to police officers, right? We’re the good guys! We make the bad people go away and make sure the good people stay safe. Here, want some chocolate?”

Lance reached inside his uniform pocket. He fussed around until he found the wrapped candy, which was always a godsend in domestic situations or with runaways, and reached out to Keith with a brown hand and palm upward. The chocolate sat on soft skin. Keith looked at it with pouted lips – so perfect for kissing and licking – and narrowed his gaze. Lance’s stomach rolled; the idea of touching a child – one who likely didn’t even know the _word_ ‘sex’ – made him feel too much like a predator, too much of a danger to an innocent boy.

He licked at his lips, as he fought back the urges, but then Keith took the chocolate. Those small and chubby fingers wrapped around the chocolate, while the four-year old beamed a bright smile so wide that it sent flutters through Lance’s abdomen, as he lost a breath and flushed bright red. The skin was so impossibly smooth and soft, so very warm, that his member twitched and grew half-erect in his black work trousers.

“Thank you, Mister,” chirped Keith.

Keith unwrapped the chocolate. He ate with gusto, as if he were half-starved, while the chocolate ended up smeared all around his lips and cheeks, like a giant brown streak that was both adorable and off-putting to witness. Lance smiled and took a handkerchief from his pocket, whereby he wiped off the chocolate with firm touches that had Keith swatting away his hand and frowning deep enough to draw out lines about his eyes. Lance wondered what they might look like wide with wonder and curiosity, instead of scared and alone.

“Will you come with me to my car?”

“Can – Can I watch _Coran and the Coranics_?” Keith asked. “They – They’re my favourite show. I like how the princess is smart and saves people. The aliens are funny; I – I want to go to the space school when I’m older, so I can meet some aliens. I like them.”

“Wow! Really?” Lance feigned interest with a wide grin. “You’ll be an awesome astronaut! You can save Princess Allura and be one of Coran’s coranics, too! You know I met Coran once? He gave me his autograph. I have a copy in my car, along with a photo of me with him, and – if you’re really good – I’ll even let you take a look. How does that sound?”

“Really? Cool! I want to see Coran! Can I see him?”

“Sure, just got to come with me.”

Lance held out his hand. Keith took it with a big grin, unaware that Lance was now fully hard and internally cursing himself for such a reaction, and – even as he _hated_ himself for that same attraction – it made him curious what it would be like to sate it. He envied people who were exclusively attracted to adults, as well as those who had a dual attraction, because at least they could find a consenting partner to achieve sexual release, but Lance – ever since adolescence – could only ever get hard at the thought of children. It was a curse.

He ruffled Keith’s hair with his free hand, before he led Keith across the park and over to the car that sat on the side of the road. The little boy already bounced on his feet and asked whether they could play with the siren, and he asked all about why the ‘P’ was written backwards and why the car had a metal divide, and Lance admired his curious nature and passion for the police force. Keith didn’t even complain when sat up front.

Lance slid into the driver’s seat. He locked the doors and looked around; the park was on the outskirts of town, with no one seemingly in sight, and school was still in session and most workers were in their offices, so no one was around as a witness. Lance saw a stray lane up ahead; it led the long way around to the station, going through an abandoned estate that was due to be demolished to make way for a shopping mall, and he knew a small apartment block whose underground car-park was still accessible and empty.

“Do you want to go for a drive?” Lance asked.

He prayed Keith would say ‘no’; he could respect a simple ‘no’, only to take him back to the station and call social services while he completed the missing person report, but Keith jumped up and down on his seat and beamed bright at Lance. Those hands struggled with the seatbelt, which forced Lance to help him out. He brushed the back of his hand across Keith’s cheek in an ‘accidental’ manner, followed by a lingering touch upon his hip.

“It’ll just be a short drive,” chirped Lance.

“I – I want to see Coran, too,” said Keith. “Please?”

Lance laughed and pulled the signed photograph from the glove-box. He gave it to Keith who beamed bright and grew more excited, and – as he drove off – Keith babbled about how cool it was that Lance knew Coran, before asking if he got to see space and meet some aliens. It was sweet that he thought the show was real, but a true indication of his age that he thought fiction was the same as reality. They drove without seeing a single other car.

It was nice to listen to Keith babble the entire time; it was a relief to listen to how he slept soundly underneath the trees in the park, or how he ate the leftover food that the restaurants threw away, and – while he stayed out of sight – no one appeared to have molested or abused him in any way or form. It wasn’t too much a surprise, of course, as the tiny town had an exceptionally low crime-rate and not much to celebrate other than Coran’s studio.

Lance soon found the old apartment building in the abandoned section of town, before he drove into the underground car-park and – just to be safe – parked another floor down around a corner that was further obscured by a pillar and pile of rubble. There was no way that anyone would accidentally come across them, while even the teenagers in the town avoided these buildings for a new skate-park opened up by the new buildings and businesses.

It was almost pitch-black, so Lance allowed the battery to run and turned on the interior light, and – as he undid Keith’s seatbelt – he picked the young boy up and pulled him over onto his lap with a nervous grin. Keith didn’t mind. He continued to look at the photograph in his hands and babble aimlessly about the colours and shapes he memorised, while he smiled and laughed in a way that was so unlike when they first met. It was difficult to reconcile the stoic and grumpy boy with the cheerful and passionate soul. Lance shuddered.

“Do you want to play a game?” Lance asked.

Lance gently took the photograph from Keith; he stuck it on top of the dash, before he slid off Keith’s jacket and shoes, which left the boy with a confused pout and a trembling lip. A spark of panic shot through Lance. He worried that already a line had been crossed, but Keith simply grabbed the photo back and held it in his hands with a warm smile, as he went back to listing all the names of the background alien characters. Lance rolled his eyes and pulled off a pair of black socks, while his erection pressed firm against an unknowing pair of buttocks.

The boy set on Lance’s lap with legs bent, but those tiny feet were so adorable and small that the four-year-old looked good enough to eat. Lance cursed not bringing any lubrication, but he knew that would probably take a great deal of grooming and trust, at least were he to avoid Keith saying something and the station tracking the car’s GPS in response. He instead pulled up that tight t-shirt over Keith’s head, who said nothing as if it were most normal.

“Are we going swimming?” Keith asked.

Lance laughed, as he ran his hands over Keith’s bare back. The tiny nipples on a hairless chest stood erect like small pebbles, and – risking an adverse reaction – he ran the pads of his thumbs over them and flicked them a little afterward. Keith writhed and pouted, still staring down at the photograph that had him so rapt, until Lance pulled one just enough to bring a jolt of pleasure and avoid any jolt of pain. Keith cried out and looked up to Lance in surprise, although there was no fear and only utter confusion. Lance whispered:

“No, we’re playing a game, remember?”

“What kind of game?” Keith asked.

“It’s one that Coran taught me,” said Lance. “Do you remember the words to ‘Coran, Coran the Gorgeous Man’? You can sing them if you get nervous. I just need to cover your eyes; the aim of the game is to make your pee-pee happy, but we can’t tell anyone else Coran will get into trouble with the princess. He wouldn’t be on TV any more! It’s a secret game.”

“Coran taught you?” Keith’s eyes went wide. He smiled bright. “I want to play, then! Coran is a here and saves people and makes people happy. I like Coran. Isn’t my pee-pee dirty, though? My teachers said no one should ever touch there. It’s a naughty place.”

“Yes, but I’m a policeman. It’s okay for the police to touch there.”

“Really? Coran plays the game, too, right?”

“Sure, whatever,” mumbled Lance.

He reached into his glove-box and pulled out an old tie. Keith stopped him from putting it around his eyes, wanting to still look at the photograph, but Lance promised to give him the photograph for keeps should he play the game. Keith pursed his lips. He paused. It took a long minute, but Keith finally nodded his consent and Lance tied the tie around his eyes, which blocked out all light from inside the car and blinded Keith to his surroundings.

Lance took the photograph away from him; he stood Keith up onto his feet, one on either side of his thighs, and slid down the boy’s trousers, until Keith was able to step out of them, and – now utterly naked save for his gloves – his small crotch was right before Lance’s mouth, which breathed warm air over the soft organ. It was absolutely tiny, almost like a walnut as opposed to a penis, and tucked above the smallest and tightest pair of testicles that Lance ever remembered seeing. Hairless. Smooth. So innocent and never before been touched.

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” hissed Lance.

Keith obeyed without question. Lance took that moment to free his own erection from the confines of his trousers, where it sprang free from a heavy thatch of brown hair, and the flared tip – already dripping pre-come at an astounding rate – acted as a natural lubrication and allowed his hand to wrap around to milk his length. He panted for breath, already so close to coming from the thrill of the forbidden alone. Lance moaned.

“You’ll feel really good,” he promised. “You’ll like Coran’s game.”

Lance took the little member into his mouth; there was a small cry of ‘dirty’ from Keith, who fidgeted and writhed, but Lance placed a firm hand onto the small of his back, before using it to keep him relatively still. He dipped his tongue into the slit. Keith cried out, a small mewl that was high-pitched and so deeply conflicted, and Lance – as he pumped his hard cock, head occasionally brushing against that tiny perineum, as he bent his back almost in two to get low enough to take that tiny penis – listened to the delicious sounds.

He opened his mouth wide, able to take in balls and all. He lathed the penis with his rough tongue, licking around it and sometimes lightly drawing his teeth over the foreskin, and soon it grew erect in his mouth. It was a sensation he would remember until he died. Keith purred and bucked into him and made incomprehensible noises, while Lance pumped his member faster and faster beneath him, with cock head smearing pre-come on bouncy buttocks.

“N-No, stop,” begged Keith. “I’m going to pee! No. No!”

It didn’t take long for Keith to orgasm. There was no come, or any liquid at all, but his little body was wracked with shivers and movement and so hot to the touch, until he cried out until his voice grew hoarse and finally silenced. Lance pulled away, as he looked up at pale skin flushed red and Keith barely with the strength to stay upright, and those lips – plump, scarlet, deliciously wet – were wide open with a speck of drool down the side.

Lance came on the sight of his debauched angel; he grew light-headed with pleasure, as his stomach contracted and rope after rope of come splattered on tiny buttocks, thighs and perineum, until Lance could only hear his racing pulse and panted breaths. A sweat broke over his body, so that his uniform clung to his skin and his hair stuck to his forehead, and – as he reached up to undo the blindfold – Keith glared at him with eyes narrowed in disgust and a rage far beyond his years. A cold stone of dread seeped into Lance’s stomach.

“You peed on me,” said Keith in a cold voice.

Lance blinked in confusion. He looked at Keith, who seemed on the verge of tears, and burst into absolute laughter, before wiping off the come with a handkerchief. Keith jumped off his lap and onto the passenger seat. The small boy was beautiful, but he hugged his legs to his naked chest with a pout. Lance smiled at the sight, almost hungry to take a photograph of him and yet knowing no evidence could ever exist, while also desperate to get inside him.

“You won the game,” chirped Lance.

He tucked away his penis, before doing up the zipper to his trousers. Keith sat in silence. It was a little unnerving, so Lance quickly handed him both the photograph and a bag of assorted sweets from the glove-box, and – with a huge grin – Keith snatched them from his hands and began bouncing upon the leather seats again. He swung his legs over the edge, singing the theme tune from Coran’s show, while he lazily ate at the chocolate with an open mouth so that he could continue his songs. Lance laughed at him with a warm sound.

“Don’t tell anyone about our game, okay?”

“Why not?” Keith asked.

“Coran told me it was a secret game,” lied Lance. “If you tell anyone, you won’t be allowed into space school and Coran won’t be on television any more. I’d have to arrest you, too, but if you keep it secret . . . I might even be able to get you to meet Coran; I’ll definitely be able to get you soft-toys of him and posters of him and lots of chocolate.”

“No way! I – I like chocolate, but my dad said no to Coran toys. I always wanted them! I just have to not tell about the game? I can not tell! Can I get the princess action figure, too? I like the princess. Is that what I get when I win? Toys. Can I play again?”

“So long as you keep it secret, sure,” promised Lance.

Keith beamed a bright smile.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Thanks for taking him, Lance.”

Lance smiled, as he ruffled Keith’s hair. The young boy beamed a bright smile, as his small cheeks puffed out with pride, and he – with a childlike innocence – reached out for Lance’s gun, who had to quickly side-step and point a warning finger to him. Keith narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, before he folded his arms in a manner that looked almost like a miniature adult, and Shiro burst out into sincere laughter at the sight of his little brother.

It was good to see Shiro in Keith’s life. He took over as guardian for his younger half-brother, even despite his heavy workload at the Garrison, and the entire house – so much more homely and luxurious than the desert shack – was baby-proofed within a matter of days and filled to the brim with photographs of Keith. There were _Coran and the Coranics_ toys everywhere, while the show played on the huge television set mounted to the wall, and a home-cooked meal sat within the oven to keep warm for later. It smelled delicious.

“It’s no problem,” chirped Lance. “Anything for my hero.”

“You know I’m not your superior any more, right?” Shiro teased. “I’m just a regular old teacher at the Garrison, no more or less. You, though? You keep our streets safe, while acting as a role-model for all the kids out there. You’re the true hero, Lance.”

“Okay, _now_ you’re kind of going to make me blush, Shiro.”

“Good.” Shiro laughed. “You need the confidence!”

Keith beamed a bright smile, as he jumped up and down before Lance. It was made him feel wanted and a part of a family, something he lacked since leaving Cuba for schooling as a young teenager, and – as his eyes watered with tears – he reached down to lift Keith high above his head, while the four-year old squealed with glee. Lance threw him high in the air, before he made a noise like an aeroplane and ran across the room with Keith held high, and all the while Keith fidgeted in his grasp and laughed over and over.

“He absolutely adores you,” observed Shiro.

It was difficult to reply when Keith clamoured over him and forced him into a piggyback, but – luckily – Shiro smiled and walked over to them with coat over one arm and his briefcase in his free hand, while he nodded over to the clock. It was positioned between two of the living room windows, which were closed to the darkness outside. Lance knew it would be time for Keith’s bath soon, which already filled him with both guilt and arousal. Shiro chirped:

“Okay, well, I’ll be back tomorrow lunchtime.”

“Do you _have_ to go?” Keith mumbled.

“I do, kiddo, but I’ll be back.”

Shiro blinked away tears; the abandonment of Keith seemed to hit Shiro hardest, but Lance knew that was only because Keith was still too young to understand the ramifications. The young boy spent his nights crying and asking when their father would come home, or sometimes blaming Lance or Shiro for taking him away, and sometimes he would be oddly quiet as he stared off out of the window as if he finally realised the truth. Shiro let out a shuddered breath and reached out to stroke Keith’s hair with a forced smile.

“I’ll never leave you,” promised Shiro. “I swear.”

“You’re leaving now,” sniffed Keith.

“Keith, the Garrison is a very advanced school,” explained Shiro. “It means I sometimes have to do extra training, or volunteer to chaperone students, or invigilate exams for the students, but those things are only temporary and will _always_ lead me back to you. You’re my brother and I love you. I won’t ever leave you. Hey, while I’m away, Lance can tell you all about ‘space school’! I even taught him for a smalll while. It’ll be fun.”

“You – You say too many big words,” muttered Keith.

“Right, well, Lance is going to look after you for one night. Just one. I have to do some work, but I’ll be right back. If you get scared, you can ring me at any time. I promise I’ll pick up regardless of what I’m doing, because you are the only thing in this world that matters to me, Keith. I swear that I’m not going to leave you like our pops left. I swear.”

Keith reached out to Shiro with small hands. They opened and closed with chubby fingers, still covered with baby fat, and Shiro snatched him up to hold him in the world’s tightest embrace, until – with tears streaming down his face – he let Keith have some breathing room with a reluctant smile on his lips. He set Keith upon the sofa; the boy jumped up and stood upon it with socked feet, while he tried to reach back out for Shiro, who shook his head to take his coat and briefcase back from the floor where they fell. Keith begged:

“Come back soon?”

“I’ll run home as fast as I can,” promised Shiro.

Shiro blew a kiss and headed over to the front door, while Keith strove not to cry as his big brother left him alone for the first time since their father left, and Lance scratched at the back of his neck nervously as Shiro fidgeted at the door. He looked torn between staying and leaving, lingering in the limbo just beyond the archway between lounge and hall, before he looked over to Lance with watery eyes and a half-formed smile. Shiro feigned a salute, one meant in a sincere gesture of respect, as he nodded and smiled.

“Thanks, Lance,” said Shiro.

“No problem, man.”

There was an awkward silence. Shiro looked one last time to Keith, who was on the verge of tears in turn, before he drew in a deep breath and practically ran out of the door, closing it with a loud click behind him. Keith burst into tears; he dove into Lance’s arms, who carried him over to the window to let him watch Shiro drive away, and tried to coax him into waving even as Keith buried his head into Lance’s uniformed arms. It broke his heart.

Lance closed the curtains with a sigh, before he carried Keith upstairs. He assumed the dinner in the oven would keep, while prepared the boy for bed, and led him into the bathroom where he sat him down on top of the toilet. Keith rubbed at his eyes and sniffed, while he kicked at the porcelain beneath his socked feet, and – as he muttered incoherent and childish words – Lance tried to remember the crash ‘safety course’ delivered by Shiro. The cold water was to go in first and alone, just in case Keith somehow climbed into the tub.

The little boy was dressed only in a pair of small shorts and a t-shirt, although the t-shirt was covered with a cartoon face of Coran, and those hairless and smooth legs were so much a temptation that Lance almost forgot to finally turn on the hot tap. He bit his lip. It would be easy to end things now, while they progressed no further than a few stolen blow jobs and ‘special’ touches, but the temptation was strong. Lance might never have another chance.

“It’s too early for a bath,” muttered Keith.

Lance smiled and turned off the water. He reached out to undress Keith, who complied without any question for the man still in uniform, and soon he was as naked as the day he was born, with blue-grey eyes looking angrily over to the water. It was as if the bath personally offended him, as he continued to swing his legs. Lance ran a hand from the mullet of hair down that soft back, before he let his fingers trail over those plump buttocks.

He winced and pulled his hand away, as his heart raced and mouth ran dry. _This is wrong_ , Lance thought. He lifted his hand to touch upon his badge, trailing his fingertips around the edge, and realised that he was abusing the oaths taken and the promises to protect the people, but the urge was so strong and Keith was so beautiful. There was no harm done, at least not yet, while Keith considered it to be just a ‘game’ and participated with a smile and a laugh and desperate to get his ‘prizes’ for ‘winning’, but that wouldn’t last forever.

“You want to get clean, right?” Lance asked.

“No,” spat Keith. “I like it dirty.”

Lance nearly swore. The member in his pants grew to a full erection, already thrumming and straining against the fabric, until he was forced to reach down and squeeze tight upon the rigid length to try and stave off the desperate desire. Keith was innocent; the words were meant literally, no indication of kink or desire, and yet that same innocence was what pushed Lance nearly to breaking point. Keith was a blank slate . . . an untouched virgin . . . he was malleable and could be _anything_ that Lance wanted him become. It was hot, but wrong.

“Hey, want to play a special bath game?”

“Like the pee-pee kissed?”

“Sure,” chirped Lance. “Listen, your hole must get real dirty, right? All that icky poop and stuff that comes out of there? I bet Shiro never cleans that place. I know a way to clean it that will make you feel good, just like the pee-pee game. Just keep it secret, okay?”

“Do I get a special prize if I win again?”

Keith jumped off the toilet lid, as he reached up to be lifted into the bath. Lance swooped him into his arms, letting his hands steal touches of warm and smooth flesh, before he sat Keith down in the bath whose waters reached up to his nipples. The little buds were erect and flushed red, while his skin now glistened with dewdrops of moisture, and the water – that rippled around his lower body – magnified and distorted the view of his tiny penis. Lance uttered a small whine, so aroused that his genitalia began to physically hurt.

He guided Keith to stand with hands braced upon the edge of the bathtub. Keith immediately sat down, throwing himself back to wet his hair, as if he thought this were a genuine game, and Lance – desperate for some release – brought Keith back up to stand gain. He quickly grabbed at the boy’s penis, before he could pull away, and gently massaged it in small counter-circles with his thumb and forefinger. Lance whispered into his ear:

“Win the game and you can get ice cream for dinner.”

Lance leaned over from where he knelt. He gave no time for Keith to reply, but immediately took his hard member into his mouth. It tasted a little bitter, as if he hadn’t long been to the bathroom and forgot to shake, but there was also a scent of baby powder from where Shiro likely bathed him from the night before. It was all too innocent, yet Lance knew he had no right to take that innocence by force, and yet . . . was it force when Keith wanted it?

He scrunched closed his eyes, unwilling to face the fact ‘informed consent’ couldn’t be given when Keith likely had no idea where babies came from or what ‘sex’ meant, but he knew that this was nothing like the abuse Coran forced him to endure. It was enjoyable to Keith, something he sometimes asked to happen or initiated, but still something niggled in the back of Lance’s mind that it was _wrong_ , even as he slurped and suckled upon that small cock, desperate to show Keith the extent of his love. Lance fumbled around for a shampoo bottle.

There were too many containers. He opened his eyes just enough to see where his hand fell, even as Keith gripped at his hair with tight little fists, and – with a deep blush – noticed that there was some sexual lubricant beside the body wash. It promised to ‘stimulate’ with extra sensations, while it was also cherry-flavoured to Lance’s chagrin, and he wondered whether Shiro just forgot its presence or assumed Keith too young to understand.

“I – I feel good,” murmured Keith.

Lance pulled back his hands enough to roll up his sleeves, before he shot out his grasp for the lubricant and squirted a huge amount into the palm of his hand, and – as his erection throbbed within the confines of his trousers – reached down with the empty hand to open his fly and expose his angry, red length to the warm and humid air. He moaned in relief. It sent vibrations down Keith’s rigid cock, perhaps an inch or two long at most, and the boy cried out and gripped tighter upon the brown hair. Lance moaned again.

“It feels good,” continued Keith. “I like it. It’s good.”

He squirmed and fidgeted, while Lance dipped his fingers into the lubricant to thoroughly coat them and wet them, and – with a shuddered sigh – he pressed his index finger against Keith’s hole and nearly came with how tight that hole was to the touch. It was dry and hot and like a tiny pinprick; no one ever molested him or harmed him, that much was certain, and Lance knew in that second he couldn’t risk more than just one finger.

Lance fingered the hole in small circles, just pressing a little without actually going inside, until he coaxed Keith to spread his legs a little more, and – with a lot of lubricant still in the palm of his left hand – he fondled those tiny balls with great expertise. Keith relaxed enough that he could slide his finger in just past his fingernail, as Lance made a mental note to follow the natural curve of the inside of his body. It was warm inside. It was tight. Lance wept pre-come at an astounding rate, desperate to get further inside. He pulled his mouth away.

“Keith, you push out like you need a poop.”

“Why?” Keith asked. “I don’t want to poop. I want to feel good.”

“This will feel good, I promise,” said Lance. “If you push out, I can get more of my finger inside, and that will let me find a special spot inside you. That spot feels _super_ good when you push it! I’ll keep sucking you, too, and touching your balls. Just push out, okay?”

“Okay, but it better feel good! I mean it.”

Lance fought back a laugh; he worked inside his finger, while Keith pushed with an expression of concentration, and soon his finger slid inside right up unto the last knuckle, where he nearly came from the sensations alone. Those inner walls clenched around him, while he could feel the actual heartbeat pulse through those same innards. They were hot, too. It was the strangest sensation, but also so soft and smooth as silk. He groaned.

Keith squirmed and gripped at his hair, while he returned his mouth to that erection. He milked it for all it was worth, while he crooked his finger in search of that prostate, and – as he looked around for that magic spot that would have Keith seeing stars – he reached down with a lubricated palm to grip his erection. It was almost too much. He cried out around Keith’s length, realising that the added tingling sensation would be his undoing, and occasionally dipped his thumb into his weeping slit. Keith mewled beneath him.

The young boy purred and moaned and gasped, thrusting in time with Lance’s finger, until he finally found that magic spot and massaged it with rough circles, and – with a loud scream of ecstasy – Keith gripped his hair until it was painful, and dry came into his mouth. It was all Lance needed to come in turn, but this time he gripped his cock so hard that it held back his orgasm just long enough to stand upon his feet, and aimed his cock straight at Keith.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

Keith obeyed without question. Lance groaned, raising the finger that had been inside the boy to his nose, where he sniffed long and deep and finally released his cock. He came with rope after rope of come; some struck Keith in his eye, which caused him to cry with the sting, and the rest struck his cheek and some went into his mouth. Keith opened and closed his mouth in surprise, swallowing back the sticky liquid, before opening wide and leaning in to wrap his mouth around the head, where he sucked the rest directly from the source.

“God,” cried Lance. “You’re so fucking perfect!”

He would have came again if possible, but he remained half-hard and exhausted from the force of his orgasm, with lips parted and eyes dilated, and – as he collapsed beside the bath – Keith furrowed his brow and licked at his lips. Keith kept one eye closed, as his naked and wet body remained on open display for Lance to consume. He soon looked to Lance with a smile and reached up to touch the come that stained his face and marked him as used.

“That tastes weird,” chirped Keith. “Can I get more?”

Lance was hard already. Aching. Hot.

“Fuck yeah,” whispered Lance.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Lance leaned against the doorframe.

He smiled to look inside the bedroom; the large windows allowed in a great deal of moonlight, but were barred from the outside as a cheap method to prevent the curious and playful child from climbing out, and they sometimes cast almost ominous shadows across the otherwise bright and cheerful room. There was a large play-mat designed with a cartoon town centre of the carpet, complete with building blocks and action figures, and the walls were painted with murals of _Coran and the Coranics._ It was a room any kid would envy.

The bed itself was custom-made, so that it was slightly higher than average to accommodate a fort underneath that was hidden from view with strips of green plastic, designed to look like seaweed for an underwater theme that the fort emulated to perfection. There were plush toys all over the bed, while – despite the array of clothes piled in a corner – Keith took to only wearing the same outfit over and over, and it was the room of a happy child.

Keith currently sat cross-legged on his bed. It was still relatively early, only seven o’clock, but it was getting past bedtime for the little boy, and already he was yawning and rubbing at his eyes with two tiny fists. Lance hissed. The sight was more erotic than it ought, especially as Keith’s oversized shirt pulled up to reveal tight shorts that clung to his legs, and so much skin was on show that Lance fought the urge to mark it with bites and kisses. He knew he could leave no evidence, but he also knew bruises could be easily explained.

“Are you going to tuck me in?” Keith asked.

Lance swallowed back his arousal, even as his member ached in his pants. The question was innocent enough, but it brought back a flood of memories . . . _the scent of honey clung in the air, while the milk was still sweet on his tongue, and the shadow in the doorway lingered, blocking out all light, a promise of what would come after the last drop . . . excruciating pain, a promise of a reward, sweat upon skin . . ._ Lance shuddered, his arousal nearly gone.

“Sure,” mumbled Lance.

He walked across the room. It was difficult to navigate the maze of toys and books and computer games, especially as Shiro seemed unable to stop from spoiling the young boy, and Lance smiled sadly to realise that the material possessions were no substitute for time. He grew up in absolute poverty, the youngest of all siblings, but he never wanted for anything, as his family provided him with attention and affection. Shiro tried, but was it enough?

Lance tucked the small boy into bed, wondering whether Shiro’s many meetings were necessary, especially with such a beautiful boy in need of a father figure, and he wondered whether he could give Keith what Shiro could never give him. It was a bad thought. He winced while tucking in the last of the sheet, with hands frozen midair, and let out a shuddered exhale of breath as he looked to Keith with trembling eyes. How many months had it been since their first night in the car? Keith was five now. Lance whispered:

“Can I ask you a question, Keith?”

“Sure,” chirped Keith.

“Do you like playing our special games?” Lance asked. “You know I’d stop if you said ‘stop’, don’t you? I only want to play if _you_ want to play. I never want to hurt you. This is about love and showing you how much I love you. Do you like to be loved?”

“I guess? I like our games. They’re fun! Can we play now?”

“Yeah, well, I actually wanted to play a new game.”

“What new game? What’re the rules?”

Keith sat upright in bed. He looked too tired to play any game, but – on the flipside – Lance knew that could work to his advantage, as he would be far more relaxed and possibly even fall asleep should they fall into enough of a rhythm. Those eyes were red. There were visible bags. He pursed and played with his lips, even as he tried to smile, but those tiny fists would come ever up to rub at his eyes while he would open his mouth into a wide yawn.

Lance – still in uniform – felt vastly overdressed, even as he reached out to slowly undo the buttons upon Keith’s shirt, and he found his arousal returning on sight of that pale expanse of chest being laid out before him. He slid off the shirt and dropped it onto the floor, nearly coming on sight when he saw Keith squirm and slide off his shorts beneath the sheets. Lance swore as pre-come wept from the tip of his erection, which tented in his work pants with an almost obscene size. He took the shorts from Keith and brought them to his nose.

The scent was unique and enough masturbation material for a lifetime, as he grew almost dizzy and smiled absently to himself, and – dropping them finally by the shirt – he looked to Keith and saw someone whom he grew to love. He wondered if it could even be called a consensual relationship, when the young boy smiled so brightly up at him and waited eagerly for whatever the next game would prove to bring, and he swallowed hard at the sight.

“It’s a surprise,” murmured Lance. “Get on all fours, okay?”

Keith obeyed. He pushed off the covers from his body, before he crawled onto all fours, and – as knees and hands pressed into the mattress – Lance slid behind him and palmed the perfectly shaped mounds that hid the familiar winking hole. Lance parted them and buried his face in between, where he licked at the small brown hole, and laughed when Keith ground back desperate for more of the sensation. He liked rim-jobs almost as much as blow-jobs.

It was a temptation to force his tongue inside and suck around the inflamed rim, always so greedy and desperate to be filled with fingers and tongue, but he held back this time to fish around for the travel-sized lubricant in his pocket. The scent was strawberry, with a matching taste, and sometimes – when Keith begged to be as ‘grown up’ as Lance – he would paint his cock with the lubricant and let Keith lick it off like a lollipop. He was still too small to take it into his mouth, with too much of a gag-reflex, but it was enough to always make Lance come.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” begged Lance.

He uncapped the lubricant and coated the fingers of his right hand, while he looked to the clock and wondered whether it was too late for such activities, but – with Shiro only gone for the one weekend – he knew there was no other chance to truly make love to the child. He parted those buttocks with his left hand, and then slowly slid a finger inside to the hilt. It went in without resistance, as Keith was so used to be being finger-fucked, and he even knew how to push back and relax to accommodate the digit. Keith moaned like a whore.

Lance followed the natural curve to the boy’s body, while he searched out for that ‘magic spot’ that would have Keith seeing stars, and was forced to free his erection when Keith clawed at the sheets and ground back upon his hand. He looked too fucking good. Keith was unaware that they were exploring his sexuality together, just too happy for his ‘pee-pee’ to ‘stand up’, and the feeling that he ‘had to be pee’ sometimes even made him pass out.

He gently inserted a second finger, relishing how easily it joined the other. There was little stretch or discomfort, at least judging by how Keith now thrust back heavy and hard, perhaps mimicking the way that Lance thrust into his own hand or bobbed up and down upon that tiny boy cock, but it made Lance’s erection physically painful. He was forced to reach down and grip it, so that he could make milking motions and dip his thumb into the slit, desperate to ease his arousal just a little so he would last more than a minute inside Keith.

“I’m going to add more fingers,” said Lance.

“I like two. Two is fine.”

“You’re going to need more than two.” Lance struggled to push in a third. “I’m going to fuck you, Keith. That means I’ll put my pee-pee into your poo-hole, so I have to make sure your hole is big enough to take it without hurting. I have to stretch it big. It’s something special; it’s something you only do with people you love, so it feels great.”

“If it feels good, I want to do it! Why do you want to put your pee-pee there, though? Does it feel good for you, too? Do I make you feel good? Is that why people in love do it? Shiro says that I’m not supposed to let people touch there. I even have to wash it myself!”

“Shiro’s right, no one should touch there, but . . . I’m special, right?”

“Yeah, you’re Lance! You’re my friend.”

Lance finally forced inside a third finger. Keith groaned in discomfort this time, as he fell onto his forearms and looked back with a sharp glare, and – before Lance could apologise – the boy purposely clenched around his fingers as tight as he could manage. Lance swore, wishing it was his cock inside, as he relished in how those inner walls could provide such strength and pressure. He reached down to lick the excess lubrication that leaked from the sides of his hole and squelched out around his fingers, and nipped at the firm buttocks.

“You’re not supposed to like that,” grumbled Keith.

Lance laughed and removed his fingers. He slathered his cock with lubrication, before he placed a hand low on Keith’s back to keep him in position, and angled his cock head to touch upon that waiting and wide hole. It would go inside without permanent damage, which was the main issue, as Lance knew the sight of blood or tears would kill his erection, and yet he suspected there would be discomfort and pain regardless. He prayed it would be pleasurable.

“I like anything you do, Keith. I like you.”

He pushed the head inside.

It was absolute heaven; those inner walls were so tight around him, almost painful, but they were also _so hot_ and unlike anything any toy or hand could provide, while the lubrication enabled him to thrust and buck so easily within the child. The pre-come wept from the head, as he sighed and pushed a little further, knowing from experience that the head was always the most difficult part, but – through his groans and moans – he missed the cries.

He pushed in to the hilt, at which point Keith cried out. It was a pained cry, while there were tears down his cheeks, and – as he buried his face into the pillows – he gave a childish whine that spoke of being overwhelmed by too much stimulus, as opposed to an excruciating pain or even any pain in the least. Lance struggled to judge through the loud cries and whines what was exaggeration and what was sincere, but he struggled to care as his blue work shirt clung to his chest with absolute sweat. He pulled out only to thrust hard back inside.

Lance ran his hands down Keith’s back, where he massaged those shoulders with hard and firm presses of his thumb, and worked out a few knots and helped to relax the young boy through something far beyond his comprehension. It was good . . . _so good_ . . . he was already at breaking point as his balls tightened and abdominal muscles clenched, and his breathing came out in short and fast pants, as he fought for air and tried to stave off his orgasm.

_‘Keith? Lance? Where are you guys?’_

“Oh no. Oh shit,” cursed Lance.

He pounded hard and fast inside the tight hole, desperate to find some release before he was forced to stop, and soon the only sounds were the slaps of skin on skin and wet slurps as that greedy hole took him right until pubic hairs teased upon buttocks. Lance was close, so close, and he found himself coming right at the exact right moment. He threw back his head with a loud scream of pleasure, wondering – through his haze – if there was still time to hide the evidence, when the door to the bedroom was thrown open. Shiro saw everything.

“You,” hissed Shiro. “You fucking monster!”

Shiro ran straight for the bed. Lance barely had time to pull out, as come dripped from the crying child’s hole and onto the blue sheets, and – as he pulled up his trousers with a curse – a rounded fist collided straight for his jaw. The world went black. There was a burst of pain unlike any Lance ever knew, as he grew dizzy and faint and collided with the wall of the bedroom, while he spat out blood and what felt like a tooth. He hated the taste of iron.

The come soaked through his still open pants, while the sweat cloyed to him and chilled him, and – as his eyes focussed – he saw a fist aimed straight for his face. Lance ducked. He missed the blow by a mere inch, while Shiro pulled back a bloody and potentially broken hand, and Lance yelped in fear as plaster crumbled and fell away from the huge indent upon the child’s wall. Keith screamed. Keith wept. Shiro continued to throw punches, which Lance barely dodged, until he was stumbling backwards out of the bedroom doors.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” swore Shiro.

Lance struggled to climb to his feet. Shiro pounded after him at full speed, before diving straight for him at the top of the stairwell, and – actually _just_ making contact with his back – Lance was sent hurtling down the stairs like a broken ragdoll. The pain was excruciating, while his bruised and bloody body fought to climb into a sitting position, as he desperately sought to crawl away, but nothing felt broken or permanently damaged. He was lucky. Lance looked up at the stairwell in abject horror as Shiro looked down, barely human.

The pounding of his heart within his ears was painful, while his stomach sank in his stomach and a cold sweat broke over his skin, and – just as the terror reached its peak – Keith cried out with a blood-curdling scream and Shiro winced. He muttered a barely hidden ‘fuck’, as he ran back to his brother’s room to tend to the child. It was the only chance Lance would get, as soon the police would be called and his colleagues would know. He had to get away.

Lance struggled to his feet and stumbled to the front door.

He froze when he heard Keith scream again.

Then . . . he ran.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, buddy,” said Hunk.

Shiro looked in a bad state. The tuft of white hair was dishevelled, so that it would fall in front of his dark eyes, and those same eyes held black bags beneath them, while they stood out bloodshot from deathly pale skin. He still wore his uniform, but the brown material was stained beneath the arms from sweat and wrinkled as if he slept in his clothes. It was unusual to see Shiro looking anything less than perfect. The interior of the house was a mess.

There were toys all over the place, while the armchair in front of the TV was angled to face the open staircase over in the hall, and Hunk saw a plate of half-eaten food on the armrest and a blanket draped over the back, while a pillow had fallen onto the seat. He noticed a few pamphlets on security systems, various lawyers, and children’s therapists. He also noticed a card from the local police department situated on top of a huge pile of paperwork. It was pitch-black inside the house, aside from the glow of the television. Hunk forced a smile.

“Sorry, did I stop by too late?”

Shiro ran a hand over his face and fumbled around the wall for a switch. The lights all flickered into life, blinding Shiro for a brief moment, until he focussed his eyes and looked down at his watch and saw that it was only eight. It brought a tremble to Hunk’s lips, as his shoulders slumped and he realised – with a heavy realisation – it must have been the longest day and night of Shiro’s life. It was only natural for him to want an early night, only now Hunk had stumbled along – with a carrier bag in hand – waking him from his sleep.

Hunk raised the carrier bag; it was open just enough for Shiro to look down, where he would see half-a-dozen plastic containers, and Hunk hoped that the sight and scent of home-cooked food straight from the restaurant would tempt him. A loud groan erupted from Shiro’s stomach, which brought a soft laugh to Hunk’s lips. He didn’t give Shiro any time to apologise, as he forcefully pushed his way inside and made his way over to the open kitchen.

The takeout boxes featured both adult food and children’s portions, complete with a colouring sheet that the other big restaurant in town handed out, and Hunk fought back an urge to chastise his friend for visiting his rival. The boxes were cold, while that food joint always closed at five o’clock on the dot, and since Hunk always opened at exactly five o’clock . . . it meant the rivalry was friendly, as there was no real competition. Still, a childish part of Hunk fought back a mild annoyance, as he helped himself to the dishes.

“You ordered from _Vrepit Sal’s_?” Hunk asked. “Really?”

Shiro yawned, as he slumped into a stool by the breakfast bar. A plate was slid in front of him, while Hunk portioned out a selection of Balmeran cuisine, and – with a few complementary Samoan sides – steam erupted forth and a rich aroma flooded from the porcelain in a way that made Hunk sigh with appreciation. He slid across the cutlery to Shiro, while he busied himself tidying up the kitchen while his friend ate, and he looked back towards the stairs to wonder whether the noise would wake Keith. He sighed and said:

“Shay would have made you something up, you know.”

“I know,” said Shiro. “I just couldn’t face it.”

“Hey, no judgement here, man!” Hunk moved to tidy the living room. “I won’t lie, like . . . yeah . . . the whole town’s talking about it, but we’re your friends! You shouldn’t have to hide away in shame, just because – I don’t know – you think you can’t face us or something, because you’ve always been like our leader. We look up to you. You’re awesome.”

“Thanks, Hunk.” Shiro took a slow bite. “I just didn’t want to make a fuss. I feel . . . I feel betrayed, and it’s almost ironic considering what I was supposed to teach over the weekend. I was booked in for a lecture on the establishment of the Voltron Alliance after the defeat of the Galra Empire, even managed to get Allura to attend as a guest speaker, and I thought I was leaving Keith in safe hands, but the whole damned time –”

“We had our own Zarkon in our midst.”

Hunk froze with a Coran toy in hand. It was a plush figure that was based off the Altean man, who – with so few of his people left – took great joy in teaching lessons about tolerance and acceptance at the heart of the Voltron Alliance, and sometimes he would slip in slithers of Altean culture into his shows. He knew the story of how Allura and Coran were frozen in time, and they all knew the story of how Alfor sacrificed his entire people to save the universe and bring the downfall of a corrupt empire. He smiled sadly upon the doll.

He never before imagined what kind of betrayal Alfor faced, but now – despite how peace was brought throughout the universe – he experienced a pain so deep that it tore through his body and wracked him with physical pain on its discovery, as if it were a blow unlike any that came from the heat of battle. Hunk handled the doll with chubby fingers, before he tossed it into a toy-box without even a second thought, and turned back to Shiro.

“Do you think Coran knows?” Hunk asked.

Shiro turned to look at him. It was a dark look, which caused the scar across his nose to wrinkle, but – as if remembering the circumstances – he turned back to his plate with a sigh and picked at his food with an unusual pickiness. Hunk came around to sit opposite Shiro, while he listened to what sounded like footsteps running across the landing upstairs, but soon there came the sound of running water, followed by footsteps running back and a door clicking shut, as if no one could have heard it close. Shiro asked in a cold voice:

“Why would he know?”

“He was released from cryosleep _years_ before Princess Allura,” chirped Hunk. “Lance and I grew up together, both our families moved over at the same time, because – you know – the Garrison was our big dream growing up. I always envied Lance; don’t get me wrong, my family was _awesome_ , but Lance’s were like . . . perfection! I think it broke him when his parents died, plus he was the youngest child and never wanted to go back to Cuba . . .

“Coran adopted him like his own son. He keeps it super quiet, because Coran’s – well – Allura’s advisor and this big children’s show star, only Coran’s like the main reason he was able to stay nearby and join the Garrison once he was old enough, but I also got the impression things were pretty complicated between them. I don’t know. Just thinking aloud.”

“It’ll be in the press soon enough,” whispered Shiro.

“Not with Keith’s name, though, right?” Hunk scratched at his neck. “He’s a minor, so they have to keep his name secret and stuff, don’t they? I – I’ve got so many questions, too, man. I kind of want to know why Lance did it and what changed, but also whether he’ll be arrested and tried and actually get his comeuppance, and . . . I’m kind of scared to ask, but . . . what about Keith? Is he going to be alright? Do you need us to watch him for a while?”

Shiro slammed his fork down onto the counter. The sound was loud enough to make Hunk jump, and he wondered whether it was still too soon to visit, being that the incident only took place the night before, and he looked down with a blush and gnawed upon his lip. He kept silent, as Shiro stood up so abruptly that the stool was flung backwards, and the crash of metal upon the floorboards stung his ears and made him wince. Hunk realised it was probably time to leave as Shiro paced back and forth, back and forth, until he stopped.

The silence lingered until Shiro finally snapped. He collapsed onto his knees and wept into his hands, without any shame or concern, and the broken sobs hung heavy in the air and distorted all other sounds. Hunk came around and dropped silently beside Shiro, as he watched those thick and muscular shoulders bob up and down with wracked cries. He reached out to place a hand upon Shiro’s back and forced a shaky smile. Shiro muttered:

“No, I’m not letting anyone take him.”

Hunk squeezed Shiro’s shoulder, as he tried not to feel too hurt by those words. It was understandable to want to be close to his brother after such a trauma, as well as to trust no one after being so betrayed, but it stung at Hunk and hurt his heart just a little. He looked away from Shiro, as Shiro composed himself and wiped away the tear-streaks from his cheeks, and looked back when he saw his friend draw in a deep breath. They sat in silence for a long few minutes, until Shiro finally exhaled and Hunk chanced a whispered:

“You can trust us, Shiro. It’s not like –”

“How can I trust anyone ever again?” Shiro let out a shuddered breath. “I – I didn’t think there could be anyone safer than an ex-student, than a _police officer_ , and I even ran background checks on Lance just to be safe. Nothing! Can I call myself a good judge of character? I put my baby brother directly in harm’s way. I waved him goodbye, all the while leaving him with the very man that would fuck him senseless! How can I forgive myself?

“Keith’s never going to trust anyone again. No one. Lance did that to him . . . _I_ did that to him, because I shouldn’t have let a monster into his room . . . I should have protected him, especially when our father already abandoned him, and you know what racism the Galra endure at the best of times. One day, I’ll have to explain he’s part-Galra. I’ll have to explain that it’s not his fault his father abandoned him in a shack. I’ll – I’ll have to explain that he still needs to obey the police and trust they’ll protect him, when . . . when he’s . . .

“I lost my arm to a Galra, Hunk. I suffered. I still get flashbacks when Ulaz touches me sometimes, and that’s with full comprehension of what happened to me, as well as knowledge I wasn’t sexually abused . . . small blessings, right? I – I don’t think I’d cope knowing that Keith was pulled over for something small, maybe he sped or a brake-light was out, and he was injured or arrested or worse, because he – . . . he freaked out. It’d break me.”

“Man, I – I don’t know what to say,” admitted Hunk. “I’m so sorry.”

“Iverson recommended letting Keith stay with Katie for a while.” Shiro laughed a deep and hollow laugh. “I told him it was a bad idea; until I can get Keith to a therapist, I have no idea whether he’s normalised this, and _God forbid_ he tries to act any of it out with Katie. How could I live knowing I’d accidentally enabled some other child’s abuse? Only – Only I can’t keep him from his friends forever. I can’t punish him for what’s not his fault.”

“Have you – er – talked to him at all? I don’t know the process for this kind of stuff, but I’m guessing they must have taken physical evidence at the hospital, right? So – ah – did they talk to him or interview him or anything? Are social services or something involved? Do _you_ need someone to talk to, too? I can sort you out with a therapist. It could help.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great,” admitted Shiro. “It’s just so much to process. We spent the night at the hospital, where they did a full examination, and then a policewoman came with a social worker to take some brief statements. We didn’t get back until lunchtime.”

“Dang, that must have been exhausting for Keith.”

Hunk looked back over to the staircase. There were toys littering every step, making it a hazard and a half, and he made a mental note to tidy up every last inch of the house before he left, lest Shiro wallow and allow for the hazards to accumulate. He saw the framed photographs that lined the walls, with images of the small child from birth to present day, and it was impossible to think that Lance – _his best friend_ – could ever willingly abuse his position of trust and take advantage of someone so innocent. Hunk winced and asked:

“How is Keith coping?”

“He’s asleep now,” said Shiro. “They still have a lot more they want to ask, so they said we’d have to prepare for formal interviews later on, and . . . they warned me that if it eventually goes to court, that could be pretty traumatising for Keith. I thought they were threatening me, until I spoke to a lawyer on the phone, and they told me that it was an actual fact. If Lance pleads ‘not guilty’, the prosecution can be pretty damned ruthless. It’s . . . bad.”

“Like how bad is ‘bad’?” Hunk asked. “Just like a long process?”

“No, more like this lawyer once had a case where the seven-year old girl was accused of ‘seducing’ her abuser.” Shiro curled his lip and narrowed his eyes. “He said they brought up stuff like how she’d run around naked after a bath, or how she’d splash around and play in the pool without a swimming top, and that she never said ‘no’ during the abuse.”

“Dude, that’s pretty sick. How can they say stuff like that?”

“Exactly, but that’s the stuff they _will_ say.”

Hunk clenched his hands into tight fists. He thought back to newspapers and online articles, remembering horror stories of how many victims avoided the legal system just to stop from being forced to relive their trauma, and he thought back to memories of people saying they were shamed or blamed on the stand before a courtroom filled with people. Crescent-shaped cuts appeared on Hunk’s palms, as he drew in a sharp breath and scrunched closed his eyes, and – as he thought to Keith – he also thought to his lifelong friend.

He noticed all framed photographs of Lance were missing, as if he never existed within their lives, and – on some walls – there were merely bright squares of colour amidst wallpaper otherwise paled with sunlight over the years. A part of Hunk wanted to speak to Lance and understand him, maybe get him help, while another part just wanted to punch him for what he would force Keith to endure over the years to come. Hunk asked in a small voice:

“You have to go to court, though, don’t you?”

“Yeah, there should be enough evidence to press charges,” said Shiro. “I’m not thinking that far ahead, though, because right now my priority has to be Keith’s mental health. I want to make _sure_ this never happens again, but doing that means confronting what happened to him and explaining why it was wrong, which he doesn’t understand, and I’m just –”

“Hey, one step at a time, alright?” Hunk ran a hand over his face. “Go to a doctor or psychologist alone tomorrow, okay? See what they suggest. You can leave Keith with us or Iverson, or you could take him with you, but just . . . talk to someone about how best to go forward with Keith. In the meantime, I’ll let the Garrison know you need a few weeks off. I bet Iverson’s already done that, but never hurts to check, right? This’ll be okay.”

“I keep going to his room to check on him, Hunk. I wake up with nightmares. I keep staring people down any time they compliment him, just in case they have some agenda. I’m always afraid and I’m afraid how he’ll react when he understands all this. I’m just . . . scared.”

“You aren’t alone in this, Shiro. We’ll support you.”

“Can you make this go away? Can you?”

Tears pricked at Shiro’s eyes. He looked to Hunk and blinked rapidly, while a stray tear rolled down his cheek and fell onto his cybernetic forearm. Shiro’s lips shook with a strange smile, as more tears ran down and soon he was sobbing once more, and all Hunk could do was to hold him and fight back tears in turn. It was a trauma that would linger for years, if not forever, and all because of Lance. Hunk couldn’t understand it. His heart raced in his chest, as he held tight to his friend, and he cursed not seeing the signs sooner.

Shiro held him back in turn, as he wept with huge wracks of his chest. The clock ticked on by, while the plated food grew cold, and – at the far end of the lounge – Hunk listened as Ulaz left a message on the phone for his long-term partner. Hunk heaved a dark laugh, as he remembered the time when Shiro’s worst worry was how to reveal he was dating a Galra to friends and family, and now he faced the worst horror imaginable.

Hunk allowed a tear to fall, as he wept with his friend.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Shiro lay upon his side.

He rested his head upon Ulaz’s lap; long fingers slipped through his hair, smoothing out the white lock and stroking lightly on his forehead, and he was almost lulled into a well-needed sleep, as he half-closed his eyes and let the noises of the room wash over him. There were various clangs and clatters of pans within the kitchen, as Matt prepared a meal for the children, and warm aromas of spices drifted over to the sofa where Shiro lay in wait.

It was peaceful in the lounge. A warm beam of light drifted through the opened curtains and rested across his organic arm, so that his skin was warmed and the tension in his muscles loosened, and he smiled when a blanket was draped over him. The long fortnight led to many sleepless nights, which in turn led to sore muscles and dry eyes, and – while he let his body grow limp, his mind hazy with an array of fleeting images – sleep slowly overcame him, so that the long-awaited moment of peace finally reached him. He let his mind wander.

A crash. A cry. A long whine.

Shiro jumped upright. He swung his legs over the side of the sofa, while his heart raced loud within his chest, and struggled to breathe, as he searched the room for his baby brother. It took only a few seconds for his eyes to land on Keith. Every muscle in Shiro’s body was tight, with hands clenched into tight fists ready to defend him. He panted. The room was cold around him, but he could focus on nothing except Keith. The small boy sat cross-legged on the floor beside Katie, with a toy car in hand, but looked back in terror.

The room was silent. Shiro looked to see Ulaz sat beside him with wide eyes, while Matt was frozen with pasta held midair above the boiling pot, and Katie – so bright and analytical – looked him over with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips, as she held a spanner in hand for the mechanical set that was spread between the two children. It looked like they were building a winding road for their cars, with crayon-drawn designs spread about the carpet.

He saw that half was raised in the air, with another half chaotically flung about the floor, and – judging by one car underneath a section of track – he figured that the children were too young for the mechanical set, as such one half had collapsed under its weight. They were okay; no one was hurt, aside from a small scratch on Keith’s knee, and the children were more scared from his sudden reaction than they were the collapse. A stab of guilt jammed itself into Shiro’s stomach, as he bent over and buried his head into his hands.

“It’s okay, kids,” called Matt. “Shiro’s just tired.”

Keith sniffed and rubbed at the scratch on his leg. Shiro was already halfway to his feet when a strong hand pulled him back down, and – as he made to protest – Ulaz nodded over to the two children and it became apparent that they were fine. Katie reached down to place a kiss to Keith’s knee, always the slightly more mature one at two years his senior, and – when he continued to pout – she slapped him gently upside the head. He glared in response, before she said something that had him glaring in her direction, and then snatching a piece of rail.

The two of them seemed to be in a race to complete their sides of the track, and soon the bickering descended into laughter, where Katie would provide the plans and Keith would work on the engineering of the track. They made a good team. Shiro collapsed back onto the sofa and slid back down onto Ulaz’s lap, where he let his eyes close once again. Matt came over with soft footsteps and placed a cup of hot tea on the table before him.

“You need to get some sleep,” said Ulaz.

“I can’t sleep. Keith needs me.”

Matt sighed and sat in an armchair opposite. The pasta was boiling from the stove, while the sauce simmered on low to stay warm, and the rich aromas drifted over and brought a proud commentary from Katie who chirped to her friend all she knew about Italian cuisine, even as Keith furrowed his brow and struggled to follow her words. There was the soft sound of music from the stereo-system, some band or other that was aimed at younger people. Shiro struggled to remember the names of the songs or the people who sang.

“Keith needs you healthy and sound,” added Matt.

“I know, but I can’t stop worrying.”

“That is why you have the support of your friends,” said Ulaz. “The children cannot hear us should we keep our voices low, so allow yourself the freedom to speak your mind. If you have a concern, allow us to help you find a solution, as to wallow in your pain will only bring further pain to Keith. He sees how you suffer and he suffers for that.”

“He hates me.” Shiro pulled the blanket up to his chin, as he let out a staggered sigh and rolled onto his back to stare upward to his lover. “He is still struggling to understand what Lance did to him; he keeps saying that we’re supposed to give people second-chances, as well as that it never hurt him and it felt good, and that how can something be bad if it feels good? He blames me for Lance going away. He thinks I’m keeping his friend from him.”

“Those feelings will go away eventually,” promised Matt. “He’s only five. It’s not as though he can fully comprehend why what happened to him was wrong, but – as he gets older – he’ll thank you for having taken him from that situation, but he just needs . . . time.”

“His therapist and I are going to have a talk with him tomorrow.”

“That’s good, right? I’m guessing like _the_ talk?”

Shiro let out a shuddered sigh. He remembered all too well the embarrassment over the years, as his mother engaged in a continuous dialogue with him, and even things as innocuous as a kiss on a sitcom would trigger an entire discussion on consent and ‘urges’ and ‘protection’, which shaped his entire adulthood. The memories of his father were sparse, but – if he were as active with Keith as he was with Shiro – he suspected that his baby brother got nothing more than ‘never touch a girl before you’re married’. It was a sobering thought.

It was also a thought that brought tears to his eyes, as his lips trembled and mouth ran dry, because every last thought – _every single second of every single day_ – was focussed on nothing else than how he should have made sure Keith knew this stuff. If Keith knew about sex and consent, perhaps he would have said something far earlier, and maybe . . . maybe it would never have come to this. Shiro allowed a tear to roll down the side of his face.

A small tearstain dropped onto Ulaz’s black trousers, while Matt quickly ran off to plate up the food for the children, and soon – as Shiro silently wept – he heard the children run full speed over to the kitchenette, where Katie begged for enough cheese to hide her food from sight and Keith asked to try the ‘or-gee-no’. They were helped onto the stools, while glasses of milk and root-beer were slid to them respectively, and Shiro was only able to compose himself by sheer willpower alone as Matt came back over and sat opposite him.

“You need to look at the paper, too,” whispered Shiro.

Ulaz pointed to underneath the coffee-table between them, as his other hand stroked at Shiro’s hair, and – as Matt adjusted his glasses – he reached beneath the table to pull out the large broadsheet, while he yawned and blinked away his tiredness. The ink smudged under his fingers, as he flicked the paper in half to look at the headlines. The date was from that same morning, but Matt was one to avoid printed papers and visited first thing that morning, and he furrowed his brow until realisation dawned. His eyes widened. His skin paled.

“Is this -? Is this real?”

“So the police tell me,” said Shiro in a low voice.

“Coran Hieronymous Wimbleton Smythe,” muttered Matt. “Is this why we couldn’t find his show _anywhere_ on television this morning? Katie was pretty disappointed. Our dad stuck on reruns of _Sesame Street_ until she got bored and started reading books on space instead, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time . . . stuff always gets cancelled, right?”

Shiro looked across to the paper. The photograph on the front page was of Coran avoiding the camera with head down and a gloved hand before his face, while he struggled to get to the castle and hide himself behind those Altean walls, and Shiro wondered how he would break the news to Keith who already lost one hero. He looked over to the children, who nudged each other and bickered while they ate, as if they hadn’t a single care in the world, and he smiled even as the tears dried up and his heartbeat steadied to a slow rhythm.

“Lance accused Coran of abusing him,” said Shiro. “From what I can gather, mostly from the police and from the journalists, he’s saying that Coran has been raping him right from when he took him in at the age of nine right up until he left for the Garrison at seventeen. He claims that he only joined the Garrison to escape the abuse, hence the bad grades and being put on as a cargo pilot, and that’s why he dropped out first chance he got to join the police.

“He said he’s always been attracted to children, but that he tried to get help. They told me he tried to find support groups and get therapy, only every step of the way he kept meeting brick walls, whether that be uninformed therapists threatening to out him to his bosses or people online sending him waves of abuse. It sounds like he just gave up in the end. He quit.

“I mean . . . how . . . how can you just _quit_ trying to protect children? He swore – he _swore_ – to always protect the people . . . _he took an oath_! He makes it sound like it was a self-fulfilling prophecy or something, but he also says he never really saw it as rape . . . I just – I just want to strangle him! He says that Coran always made him bleed and left bruises, but that he made sure Keith enjoyed it and that Keith was never hurt, _but it’s still fucking rape_!”

“Shiro, you’re starting to get too loud,” said Matt.

He nodded over to the children. Shiro followed his gaze; Keith was swinging his legs, while looking over in his direction with an impassive gaze, while Katie picked at her food and pretended not to be listening with a lack of subtlety, as her head turned at every word. It forced him to closed his eyes and centre himself. He remembered what he always taught Keith . . . _patience yields focus_. The world came back into view, as he opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath, before he lowered his voice so only the adults could hear.

“I’m sorry,” said Shiro. “I’m just . . . overwhelmed.”

“It looks like Lance may be allowed be allowed to walk,” muttered Ulaz. “I do not understand the details of your legal system, but he is co-operating with authorities to provide evidence against Coran, and they have told Shiro that his previously perfect record – as well as services to the community, and desire to seek therapy – may lead to him avoiding a custodial sentence. The most we can expect is for him to be placed on a register.”

“He’ll also be removed from his job.” Shiro let out a shuddered breath. “He’ll be on probation, too, have restrictions on where he can live and work, and there’ll be a restraining order to ban contact with Keith. He won’t be allowed on social media. He’ll also get community service. They – They keep telling me it’ll save Keith the trauma of trial, but . . .”

“It does not feel as if justice has been served.”

Shiro looked over to Keith. The boy looked so innocent, although his smiles were less and less as of late, and it was difficult to imagine how to tell him that his abuser would never see the inside of a cell, let alone that – in time – his childhood hero was the abuser of that same abuser. Shiro closed his eyes, as he fought back tears. He struggled to stay calm, as weeks of exhaustion and stress overwhelmed him, and his eyes stung with both tears and sweat, until he allowed himself to slowly fall back into some semblance of sleep.

He listened as Matt spoke of finding a specialised lawyer, while Ulaz discussed his ancestry from the Blade of Marmora and Galra systems of justice, and all the while there words mingled and merged in his mind, until he was no longer hearing what was said. Darkness overcame him. It was a small comfort, as the tension left his body and he was finally able to let his muscles relax, and he hoped this time sleep would stay. Shiro whispered:

“I just want this to be over.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Lance scrunched closed his eyes._

_He listened to the shuffling sounds behind him, almost blotted out by his racing heart, and his tiny fists clenched into blankets so hard that nails cut into his palms. It hurt. Crescent-shaped marks appeared on brown skin, until red bubbled and formed, and he blinked away tears and chanced a look about his bedroom. It was too dark to see everything, but light enough that he saw the shadow on his wall. The shadow appeared to undress. The clothes rustled._

_Lance held back a sob. He knew the sounds all too well; Altean clothing had few buttons and no zips, making sounds as it pealed off or was pulled from the body, and it would always drop with a thud upon the carpeted floor. The bedroom was designed to look just like a human room in style and aesthetic, but when that door opened . . . revealing the older man, always with a smile and a lollipop in hand . . . he would see the cold and metallic walls beyond, as well as catch the scent of alien cuisine and Altean cologne. He hated it._

_The lollipop was always the worst part._

_The taste always brought him back to the pain; he would be almost transported, as he remembered the stabbing ache in his backside and the taste of tears and sweat on his lips, and his throat would close like it would during the broken sobs. They gave him a lollipop once at the doctor’s office. He cried until his voice vanished, with Coran making excuses and blaming it on the shots, but Lance always knew otherwise . . . he knew otherwise when he vomited on a mere taste, just like he knew otherwise when he binge-ate them once, just because he could . . . as if he could regain control . . . he knew otherwise._

_‘It’s me,’ whispered that voice. ‘You awake, lad?’_

_Lance closed his eyes. Coran was gentle when he slept. He never wanted to wake the boy up, lest tiny fingers try to claw at his face or little legs kick at his stomach, and always would come the same words. . . ‘look what you made me do’, ‘I didn’t want to hurt you’, and ‘I just wanted to show you how much I love you’ . . . better to stay asleep. He would lubricate him and stretch him and move slowly inside him, and there wouldn’t be moans and dirty talk, no, just gasped breaths and occasional hitched cries. No noise. No pain. No anything._

_The bed dipped beside him, causing him to grip the blankets harder. A body slid behind him; he used to enjoy that warmth, reminding him of cold nights slid between his parents with cuddles and kisses and bedtime stories, but now his muscles tensed and his vision – behind closed eyes – was a mess of sparkled lights and colours from the pressure. Hands slid under his nightshirt, lifting it and struggling to get it off his prone form. Hands touched him._

_‘You were made to be loved,’ said Coran._

_Lance hated those callused hands. They ran over his body, touching in parts and crevices that no other living soul touched, and no longer did he have anything left to give, not when everything he had was taken. The bile rose to the back of his throat. It stung and burned, until vomit threatened to pour forth. Coran tried to arouse him awake, flicking at flat nipples and nibbling upon his ear, but he made sure to stay ‘asleep’, lest any sign of so-called ‘reciprocation’ be taken as a green-light for consent. Coran licked at his neck._

_‘You were made to be loved, and I plan on truly loving you.’_

_The first of three fingers pushed inside him._

_* * *_

The peephole was cold against his skin.

Lance looked long and hard; his eyes fell upon his best friend, alone and with a bag from his restaurant, and he could smell the fresh scents through the door itself, which caused his stomach to growl and his mouth to water. Hunk looked calm. He was dressed in a yellow t-shirt with a green sleeveless jacket, while a band was wrapped around his head in the latest fashion, and his dark skin gleaned with a light sweat from the outside heat.

He looked safe. Lance gnawed at his lip and grabbed his phone in hand, as he dialled the first two nines, and he dashed over to the window – the only one not broken and boarded – and twitched the curtain to look out onto the sides of the porch. There was no one there in wait, which meant no one to jump him or throw something at him. He remembered the first time on release when he opened the door without a second thought; one man threw what looked like a cup of urine at him, while a woman took a photo and laughed. The next night, a group of teenagers tried to break in and threatened to beat him. He was no longer safe.

Lance cautiously made his way over to the door, which he creaked open just a crack with the chain firmly in place. Hunk smiled and waved. The tears threatened to spill from Lance’s eyes, as he stood face-to-face with genuine kindness, and – closing the door to unlock the chain – he drew in a deep and staggered breath, before he forced his heart to slow and his hands to stop their incessant tremble. He opened the door and dove for Hunk before he could react, and wrapped his arms around him and holding him close for a hug.

“I thought you’d hate me,” murmured Lance.

Silence. Hunk heaved a long sigh, as he pulled back away from Lance. He looked with brown eyes over Lance, as if seeing him for the first time, and bit at his lip while he gazed away, unable to meet Lance’s eye and unable to walk away from him. Lance slumped his shoulders. He swallowed hard, while his stomach rolled and nausea rose, and – once again – tears threatened to spill over his cheeks, as he rammed the base of his palms into his eyes. The air was warm outside, while the humidity grew to be almost unbearable. He said nothing.

“I’m still making up my mind, man,” admitted Hunk.

“Yeah, I can get that. Honest.”

“I – er – saw the graffiti on your house.” Hunk scratched at his neck. “I brought some paint in the boot of my car, just in case you maybe wanted to paint over it, but – ah – I also brought food, too, just in case you haven’t been eating much. I’m . . . I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but it’s been a _lot_ to process. I still don’t know if I’ll come back again.”

Lance winced and turned to look at his door. The word ‘pedo’ was painted across his door in broad white letters, while most of the windows of the ground floor were boarded up, and even patches of grass on the lawn were burned to brown ashes. He looked around the neighbourhood and saw several curtains twitching, while one man ‘happened’ to find a need to hose his lawn despite never moving from one patch and constantly looking over, and Lance – unable to be stared at much longer – nodded inside the house. He headed inside.

Hunk followed with his head low, casting occasional glances to his car. It was parked seven houses down, although it was possible someone might have seen him walk the last of the distance, and Lance knew the hassle of slashed tires and drained petrol. He said nothing, as he closed and locked the door behind them, but prayed Hunk would be able to drive home without any issues. Hunk headed through to the kitchen, while Lance lingered in the hall.

“So you’re moving,” observed Hunk.

Lance shrugged and walked into the kitchen. There were boxes everywhere, each one taped shut and labelled with names such as ‘books’ or ‘utensils, and the rooms were bare aside from duty floorboards and odd pieces of furniture. Lance flushed red and pushed a pile of boxes to one side, as he slid against one of the counters and watched Hunk dish out the food, and a part of him – with a saddened smile – knew he would miss his friend’s meals.

The kitchen was filled with takeout boxes, all from Sal’s restaurant, as he made a point of avoiding any kind of contact with Hunk, especially when his best friend hung up on him a few days after the event and told him to go to hell. He watched as Hunk made do with the very few plates not currently packed, dishing up food with an expertise, and wondered whether they would ever go back to normal. Lance couldn’t expect Hunk to forgive him, not least when he couldn’t forgive himself, and he struggled to find words to say aloud.

“You know I can’t stay here,” said Lance.

“I know, but we grew up together.” Hunk handed him a plate. “It’ll just be weird; I’m so used to still having sleepovers and binge-watching movies, or dragging Shiro out for nights on the town, or just running into you in the supermarket. I always assumed our kids would play together and grow up together and - . . . er, sorry. Shouldn’t mention kids, huh?”

“I – I just want for things to go back to normal, to be honest. It’s not like the mention of a kid is going to send me frothing at the mouth and in some sort of aroused rage, but that’s what everyone thinks about and thinks I’ll do. Nothing’s going to be normal again, is it?”

“Can you blame people, dude? You were a cop. You took an oath!”

“I know, but I just . . . made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Lance placed the plate onto a counter and stabbed at the contents. It was all Earthling cuisine, strictly American and Cuban in style, and so remote from the Altean cuisine that it brought a smile to Lance’s lips, although that smile quickly fled when he realised this could be the very last taste he would ever get of his friend’s home-cooked food. He slowly took a bite, cherishing every second, and looked to Hunk only to see him staring back with barely veiled confusion. Those brows were furrowed together, while lips pressed into a thin line.

“Why did you do it, Lance?”

The question hung heavy about them. Lance took a few more bites, while Hunk grabbed at a tea towel and swept over the counters, as if he were desperate just to be kept busy, and Lance struggled to swallow his good, as a familiar pain overcame him. He ran a hand over his stomach, as he purposely slowed his breathing, but he couldn’t slow his heartbeat or stop the cold sweat from breaking over his skin. Hunk asked again in a low voice:

“Why did you abuse him?”

“I guess,” mumbled Lance. “I guess I didn’t see it as abuse?”

Hunk winced. Those brown cheeks turned white, as he looked to Lance with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, and – without even a hint of self-control – he shook his head and scrunched closed his eyes, before he looked to Lance with a dark glare. The judgement brought acid to the back of Lance’s throat, as the rejection and sense of abandonment cut into him like a knife, forcing him backward where he clasped onto the counter desperate for some support and something to ground him. He blinked away tears and whispered:

“I really do love him.”

“Do you?” Hunk asked. “If you loved him, you wouldn’t have abused your position of trust. He can’t consent, Lance. He can’t say ‘no’, even if he wanted to, because you’re his hero and his friend and his caretaker . . . he doesn’t even know he _can_ say ‘no’, and he trusts _you_ to stop anything bad or not to allow anything too mature for him. You abused him.”

“I guess . . . I guess it’s hard to explain.” Lance shrugged. “I’ve always been attracted to his age range, you know? I – I hated myself at first, because it’s totally abnormal and the only people I knew with that attraction were total monsters, like . . . people I’d throw in jail and wouldn’t care what happened to them inside. I got really depressed. I – I thought about killing myself for a while, just to make it go away, only I went online one day and found support.

“It turned out there was a whole bunch of people like me. They didn’t hurt children, some even had attractions to adults and relationships and kids of their own, and no one was hurt or abused or anything. I – I wanted to be like them, only then I started getting hassle. There were people messaging me to say I should have killed myself back when I thought about it, or they would tell me that I should turn myself in because it was only time before I hurt someone, or how I was sick or gross or nasty or they wanted to kill me.”

“You could have gotten therapy,” said Hunk.

“I tried,” said Lance. “I went to one who said they’d have to tell my boss, but my job was all I had left and the only way I could support myself! I didn’t go to any after that, and then I stayed away from online groups, because I was worried about people outing me or abusing me, but if I killed myself. . . I figured you guys would grieve and never get closure, and if I left a note explaining why, you’d always remember me as this monster. I never meant to hurt anyone, but even knowing that my thoughts didn’t have to dictate my actions . . .

“I don’t want people to judge other minor attracted people by my actions, because what I did wasn’t because of my attraction, but because . . . I just gave up. The world told kept telling me that I was a monster, so I started to believe it, and I figured I was only fighting the inevitable and might as well just give in, you know? I saw Keith that one day and I was – I was so turned on, and I guess I thought if I wasn’t hurting him then it’d be okay.”

Lance let out a shuddered breath.

He prodded at his plate of food, as his vision blurred through tears. He thought of all the children that came before, who he drove to the police station or the hospital, and he thought of that sheer _rage_ that would consume him at the idea of them being hurt . . . abused. He thought of the few that he would see playing in the street or laughing in the playground, where he would stop by to give them a sweet with a smile, as he admired their cuteness.

He also remembered when parents would stop their children taking sweets from anyone, or how out-of-uniform he couldn’t so much as talk to crying child without someone running over to make sure he wasn’t a threat, and he remembered how calling a child ‘cute’ online – in any context – would force him to close his inbox to the abuse. There were no photographs of his nieces or nephews in his home, as the everlasting fear endured that someone might somehow suspect something or make an accusation. He lived his life in terror.

They remained in silence, as Hunk paced back and forth. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed about the empty kitchen, while he rammed his hands into his pockets, and Lance poked at his food with pursed lips, no longer with any appetite to eat in the least. He listened as Hunk stopped dead only a few feet in front of him, with arms now folded and eyes burrowing into Lance’s soul, and he had no choice but to look back with fear.

“You slipped up _once_ ,” muttered Hunk. “Why did you do it again?”

“I think I just wanted to punish myself.”

“Yeah, you’re going to have to explain that one.” Hunk slammed down his hand onto the counter. “Shiro hasn’t slept in _four weeks_ , Lance! Matt literally had to drag him to a doctor to get him sleeping tablets, and Ulaz had to out himself as dating Shiro before they were ready, because he had to move in to keep things running. _They’re_ the ones being punished.”

Lance grew lightheaded. The floor moved like something from a carnival ride, so that his body moved in time with the tilting, only – as he looked to Hunk and saw him standing still with no concern – he realised the truth . . . it was just him. He stumbled back, head filled with cotton, and grasped onto the counter for support, while his lips opened and closed with useless and empty sounds. Lance blinked away tears, while his heart raced and breath hitched, and he feared a panic attack was on its way. He swallowed back a painful lump.

“I hated myself every time I gave in,” said Lance. “I still hate myself now. I _loved_ giving in, because it felt good and it’s not as though I have any other legal outlet, and I never really felt safe buying a doll online, you know? So I . . . gave in. I wasn’t beating him or bruising him and he _always_ enjoyed it physically, and it was nothing like I experienced with Coran –”

“Your body can’t help how it responds,” interrupted Hunk in a low voice. “I’ve heard of people having orgasms while being raped, but it’s an involuntary bodily reaction. They’re always so ashamed, but they did _nothing_ wrong. It doesn’t invalidate their trauma.”

“It always invalidated mine. I came a few times, but each time I just felt dirty and used and worthless . . . Coran would always tease me, like it was some big joke, and tell me how I wanted it after all, so that I started to believe him. What kind of sick fuck gets off on his own rape? I flirted with people so no one suspected anything, like if I acted sexual then they’d think I was sexual, but the idea of sex with an adult _repulsed_ me. I’d just . . . flash back.

“I don’t know if that’s why I’m attracted to kids, because most people who’re abused _aren’t_ attracted to them, but it just feels safer . . . like I’m in control, like I’m not reliving my trauma, and that if I _do_ get off then it’s not because I’m being hurt, but because I’m actually just in the moment and in full control. I’m not at risk. I’m not going to be hurt.”

“Okay, so how does that link into you being ‘punished’?”

Lance winced. He looked to Hunk and saw genuine confusion, but – at the same time – it was impossible to say aloud his deepest fears and explain the unexplainable. Lance knew that every time he touched Keith brought a bout of self-hatred, as he knew he had become the very monster he feared for eight long years as a minor, but he also knew it gave him a reason to hate himself, because no longer was it just thoughts, but instead . . . actions. He couldn’t control what he felt, but he could control what he did. It was an outlet.

He poked at his food, while he looked to the empty refrigerator and empty cupboards, and likewise he looked to the empty countertops and sink, where he saw memories of life once lived and a space that was once called home. He smiled to himself, as tears rolled down his cheeks and tasted salty upon his lips. The silence continued, until there was nothing left to be said, and he could only look to his best friend and silently beg for forgiveness.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t put it into words.”

“Okay,” spat Hunk. “Then why Keith?”

The question caught him off-guard. Lance blushed a violent shade of red, knowing that speaking of his attraction sickened anyone who didn’t understand, and he wasn’t sure how to put into words that the small height and plump limbs made Keith look so fragile and innocent and delectable. He was dark-eyed and dark-haired, but pale in face, and the exact colouring that Lance always so admired . . . so unlike Coran. Keith frowned whereas Coran smiled, and Keith chastised him whereas Coran would compliment him. Two opposites.

“It started because he was hot,” mumbled Lance.

“Then how did it finish?”

“It finished because I thought he needed me.” Lance gnawed at his lips. “Shiro was always too busy for him; it felt like every day I was baby-sitting, and Keith always hung on my every word and enjoyed our games and asked me to visit, so I guess it felt like I was giving him the love that he deserved, but with some . . . extra. I know it was wrong, but –”

“If you know it was wrong, why are you ditching jail time?”

“They offered me a plea bargain,” admitted Lance.

Hunk’s eyes widened. The papers weren’t exactly subtle, so he doubted this was the first suspicion that Hunk had about the situation, but he looked to Lance as if he were looking at him for the very first time in his life. He paled. He stepped back. Hunk shook his head over and over, as he raised a hand to signal Lance to stay back, and he looked over to the hall, as if mentally planning for his escape. Lance opened his mouth to speak and stepped forward, but Hunk pointed a finger at him in warning and curled his lip. He spat out:

“So, you’re not sorry then?”

“You don’t know what they do to people like me in prison, Hunk!” Lance blinked away tears. “I was a police officer, so I probably put half of them behind bars, and don’t you think they’ll want revenge for that? Plus, people like me . . . abusers . . . we’re the lowest of the low. If I’m not killed outright, I’ll be beaten and raped and _tortured_ until I kill myself.”

“They have solitary, don’t they? Look, I’m just saying to think how Keith will feel in ten years time to know that you didn’t serve a single day behind bars, when he’ll spend his entire _life_ behind bars with the memories and nightmares and trust issues! You did that.”

“It’s not as though I can undo what I did, Hunk!”

“Yeah, exactly. You can’t undo it.”

Hunk ran his hands through his hair, before he walked brusquely into the living room. He paced back and forth again, while he threw his hands into the air and gesticulated with wild abandon, and Lance was almost afraid to follow him. The air was cold, with the heating already switched off, and yet Hunk was flushed red with eyes narrowed into dark slits, as he cast occasional glances in Lance’s direction. He finally stopped. He breathed deep.

“I’m going to go,” said Hunk.

The rejection broke Lance. The isolation was bad enough, but to lose his best friend . . . to lose the only connection to his former life . . . it was more than he could bear. Hunk walked away, with his head low and shoulders slumped, and Lance – as he ran to Hunk – pawed at him and grabbed at his sleeves, desperate to make him stay. Hunk shrugged him off and pushed him back, never once staying put and always moving closer to the door, and with each step he came closer and closer to leaving Lance’s life. It was too much.

“Stay? Please,” begged Lance.

Hunk swung open the door, revealing the hideous word written in paint. Lance lost balance as he grabbed for his closest friend, collapsing to the floor and reaching up in a pitiable manner, while Hunk – with tears in his eyes – looked away and refused to stay with him. There were no words left to say, as Hunk pulled himself out of reach and looked back with hands raised in a gesture of surrender. It was the last sight of Hunk he would ever see.

“I’m sorry, man,” said Hunk. “I just can’t.”

Lance wept into his hands.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“He’s my friend,” said Keith.

Shiro fought the urge to roll his eyes. The curtain twitched beneath his cybernetic hand, as he peered out down the drive to see Lotor being dragged into a nearby car, and – as the self-styled prince obeyed with little resistance – he cast blue eyes in Shiro’s direction. It was hard not to be intimidated with that locked gaze, even when Lotor was still just ten years old, but that gaze was so steely and determined that it chilled Shiro to his core. He shuddered.

The curtain fell and hid the half-Galra prince from sight. Shiro remembered well from Sendak the stories of a young prince that slept a peaceful sleep, locked away in a cryo-chamber much as Allura and Coran were locked away themselves, and Shiro was always left to wonder one simple question . . . _why now_? He bit his lip until he tasted blood. They would never know why Alfor and Zarkon had chosen ten-thousand years for their descendants to awaken, but they knew the trauma and difficulties that came from a transition through time.

Shiro turned his back to the window, as he marched over into the living room. Keith sat with arms folded and legs crossed, while he glared up at Shiro with a stern gaze, and that black hair – now in a mullet-style and styled away from his face – added a sense of maturity that was lacking in his youth. The silence in the air was broken only by a long sigh from Ulaz, who flicked his newspaper in half and dropped it onto the coffee table.

“You must listen to your brother,” said Ulaz.

Keith turned his glare upon Ulaz, but the Galra – descended from the Blade of Marmora, used to the excessive racism against his people – stared back without a single blink and without allowing a single muscle in his body to move. It nearly brought a smile to Shiro’s face, as he watched his baby brother stare down a grown man. Those pale cheeks soon turned red, as Keith concentrated with everything he possessed, while his eyes watered from a need to close, and soon he gasped for breath and blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

Ulaz chuckled and looked away. He wrapped an arm around Shiro’s shoulders, as Shiro sat down beside him with arms folded and legs crossed at the ankle, and – with a loud sigh – Shiro heard his fiancé chuckle. It was apparent Shiro was mirroring his brother’s body language, but the realisation alone forced him to part his legs and clasp his hands upon his lap, as he blushed to realise he had been mimicking a child. He drew in a deep breath.

“He’s a bad influence,” spat Shiro.

There was a spark of anger in Keith’s eyes, which soon gave way to sadness. He blinked away tears, as his lips trembled and he fidgeted with his thumb, and soon the anger was back, as he jumped to his feet and tried to storm away with socked feet stamping hard upon the hardwood floor. Shiro caught him on the way past, fully aware that his brother was troubled with expressing emotion, and forced a smile in an attempt to comfort him. There was a long silence, until Shiro sighed and pulled Keith in for a hug by his hand.

He needed to bend down to reach the young boy, but Keith – giving into the physical intimacy he was often so self-starved – embraced Shiro back. They held each other for at least several minutes, while Ulaz said nothing but patiently waited, and Shiro allowed his heart to race with pride that his brother trusted him with touch. He pulled back to ruffle that hair and wipe at Keith’s cheeks, while the boy half-smiled and shrugged. Keith said:

“He’s still my friend.”

“Keith, I know things have been rough for you,” said Shiro. “I know it’s difficult to understand how your autism works at your age, and I know it’s difficult to be part-Galra in a world that still judges the Galra for what they did so many years ago, but . . . you can’t – you _can’t_ – show those parts of yourself to anyone else, Keith. You just can’t.”

“It’s not like we did anything!” Keith screwed his hands into tight fists. “You said that I can’t touch people in private places. You said that they can’t touch me there, too. I made sure that Lotor and I didn’t touch each other, so why did you make him go home?”

“Look, Keith, if you’re curious about those places, that’s okay. I can buy us some books, and we can take a look at some pictures together and I can explain what those pictures mean, but there’s a _very_ big difference between looking at pictures in a textbook and looking at something in real life. There are people who will get . . . feelings . . . just by looking at those parts . . . adult feelings. It can lead to bad things, like – like what happened with Lance.”

“You said you wouldn’t talk about Lance,” muttered Keith. “You said!”

Keith fisted his hands once more, as he stamped his foot and shook his head. It drew tears to Shiro’s eyes, as he saw the sheer conflict writ about that small face, and he remembered all too well the sleepless nights spent with Keith in bed between him and Ulaz, where the conversation seemed to last for hours upon hours. The years of therapy helped a considerable amount, but it was almost impossible for a child as young as Keith to reconcile the ‘friend’ that loved him with the man that abused him. Shiro swallowed back a lump.

He watched as Keith wiped at his eyes with a small fist. Those eyes would soon be bloodshot, while he would soon remember how Shiro sent his ‘friend’ away, and there would follow several days of a refusal to talk and a refusal to be touched. Shiro hoped to distract him while he could, perhaps erasing all traces of Lance from his mind. He lifted the boy up onto his lap, while Ulaz reached out to nudge his cheek with a closed fist. Shiro smiled and asked:

“Keith, why did you want to show Lotor?”

Keith sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ulaz grunted in disapproval, before he handed over a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his black Galra-styled suit. They sat in quiet while Keith nuzzled against Shiro and used the handkerchief to clear his face, but the question lingered in the air and – the longer it went unanswered – the more Shiro’s heart raced within his chest. He struggled to stay calm, as he thought to Lance and prayed that one day – _finally_ – he might just be gone from their lives. He almost missed when Keith said:

“He’s part-Galra, like me.”

“Why does that make you want to show him your private places?” Shiro furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “I’m not mad at you, Keith. I just want to understand what made you show him, because maybe that way we can find some better way to express yourself.”

“I – I get made fun of because I don’t act like other people,” said Keith. “Lotor gets made fun of because he’s Galra, but everyone else here is mostly human. He started a gang of other half-Galra people; I like them, even if they’re all girls, but they get picked on, too. Lotor started to get people to like him; like he’d get into fights, but he’d always help the people off the floor and say that he likes to forgive people. Some people started to like him.

“I think people sometimes forget he used to be Zarkon’s son, but Lotor always remembers and he says he wants to be his own person. I – I want to be my own person, too, but it’s hard to make friends with people, because . . . because I know they’ll leave me. Momma left me. Papa left me. Lance left me . . . Lotor hasn’t left me, though. He likes me.”

“So you showed him your parts because he likes you?”

“I showed him so he’d stay.” Keith blushed and rubbed at his eyes. “It felt good when Lance did stuff, but doing stuff is bad. I thought maybe it would be okay to show him, because Lance always liked to look and said watching me made him feel happy, and if Lotor is happy then he won’t leave me. Lotor seemed to like it. He wanted to touch it.”

Shiro tensed. He let go of Keith to move his hands to his sides, where he clenched them into fists and drew in a deep breath to centre himself, and Keith – confused as to why Shiro let go of him – looked back with wide eyes and pale with concern. Shiro immediately hugged him, as his tears pricked at the corner of eyes. He hummed an old tune to himself, one taught to him by his mother as a child, and it seemed to quell Keith’s concerns just a little, as the young boy leaned back against him and relaxed with head upon his chest.

He ran his hands through Keith’s hair, as he continued to hum the old tune. Ulaz leaned against him, while he wrapped an arm around him, and together they cuddled together on the sofa like a family that would be envied under other circumstances. Keith was drained; tired from the long day, exhausted by the fallout of exposing himself to Lotor, and Ulaz lowered his voice so as not to disturb the boy who appeared on the verge of sleep.

“Galra enter puberty earlier than humans,” whispered Ulaz.

They sat quietly as Shiro processed the information. He scrunched closed his eyes, while the latest cartoon buzzed in the background on the large television, and he tensed against Ulaz who brushed light circles upon his arm with his padded thumb. Keith was the sole reason that he remained calm, as he sat unwilling to disturb his brother with any sudden movements, but already sleepy eyes blinked into a half-lidded awareness, as he looked up and rubbed at his cheeks with small fists. Shiro smiled down at him, as he whispered back to Ulaz:

“How much earlier does puberty hit?”

“Around the age of ten.”

“So that’s something to be concerned about,” muttered Shiro. “I guess I didn’t foresee this as a consequence of the abuse; I don’t want him growing up to use sex as a weapon, or thinking that he needs to put out in order to feel validated, but it’s not as though I can bring back his parents for him. How am I supposed to make this better? How do I fix it?”

“You can’t fix it,” said Ulaz in a quiet voice. “You can’t erase the trauma, Shiro, any more than I can make your nightmares end or bring back your arm. You can only ease the burden over time, share in love and affection, and teach appropriate coping mechanism. We can hope for the best, but expect the worst. Prepare for all situations, that way Keith will always have a place to turn and options available to him, and we will be there for every step he takes.”

“But what do we do in the meantime? If Lotor’s going through puberty, and – let’s face it – Haxus is hardly a responsible or doting parent, then how are we supposed to know he won’t take advantage of Keith? What happens when _Keith_ goes through puberty, too? He’ll start getting urges and if he thinks sex is just a way to get attention –”

“We’ll talk to him after dinner. Remember what his therapist said: ‘sexual education is a continuous and open dialogue’. It just so happens that this is a part of that dialogue we need to have sooner than expected, but if that is what he needs then we must provide it.”

“Okay, but in the meantime I do _not_ want him left alone with Lotor.”

“I believe that much is a given,” said Ulaz.

They looked down at Keith who struggled to keep his eyes open, and Ulaz – with a slight chuckle – slowly rose to find the blanket left within the lounge. It was kept there just for Keith, decorated with images of Coran, and unable to tell him the truth . . . unable to take one more person from him . . . Shiro brought up every last piece of merchandise and DVD the second the news broke in the papers. He looked down upon Keith and smoothed the hair from his face, as he let out a staggered breath and said in a quiet voice:

“He’s so innocent.”

Ulaz draped the blanket over Shiro, allowing Shiro just enough time and space to move his arms so that they could swaddle the child, and – as they carefully navigated Keith to lie down – they stood over him and looked down as his sleeping form. It was difficult to imagine how he could sleep when so many fears raced through their minds, especially when Shiro feared failing his brother as a parent. He blinked away tears, unable to tear his eyes away.

Keith slept with a peaceful smile.  

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Keith threw back his head.

A long moan escaped the ten year old's lips; he remembered how much Lance liked dirty talk, as well as to hear every gasp and groan and grumble, and – as Lotor moved inside him – he strove to make the act of lovemaking as pleasurable as possible. Long hair fell on either side of his face, so that he could see nothing but the face of his lover. It was intimate. Keith could feel every breath upon his lips, see every bead of sweat on that forehead, and could focus on the little wrinkles around those blue eyes any time Keith clenched around him.

He dug his hands into Lotor’s shoulders. They were tense from how he braced himself upon two strong forearms, as well as the sheer power that surged through his body, and he thrust fasted and faster, while Keith locked his legs together in the small of that back, crossing his ankles as he sought to pull Lotor in ever deeper. There was a speck of drool from the corner of Lotor’s mouth, while he choked on saliva and thrust particularly hard inside.

Keith cried out, before long fingers effectively gagged him. Lotor hissed to him to be quiet, even as he pounded upon Keith’s prostate, which caused him to mewl behind those purple-coloured digits and writhe like a whore in the streets. He licked at the fingers, before they were slipped into his mouth. Keith sucked at them in mimicry of oral sex, flicking at the very tips with his tongue and lathing up the sides, and Lotor – with a loud curse – pounded so hard inside him that the bed rocked and the sound of balls on skin echoed about the bedroom.

“Keep quiet, lest Haxus hear us,” warned Lotor.

There was a squeak of bedsprings. Keith shot his hands out behind him, so he could grasp upon the bedposts, and – as he gripped until his knuckles turned white – he arched his back and opened his mouth until all air left him. He was unable to stave off his orgasm. Keith clenched around Lotor, as he screamed around the invading digits. Rope after rope of clear liquid shot forth from his cock, where a few stray black hairs sat at its base, and his stomach clenched with the force of his orgasm. His eyes rolled back until only the whites showed.

Lotor groaned until his voice broke, it grew raspy and deep, until he bit his lip until blood pricked at the corners of his mouth. He came. The barely stifled scream was a deeply erotic sound, while the come filled Keith until the white substance dribbled out from the sides of his hole and stained the black sheets. Lotor stayed deep inside him for at least a minute, as the heat from his body burned at his skin, and – with a moan – collapsed upon Keith.

“You’re too heavy,” muttered Keith.

Lotor grunted, as he rolled off and onto his back. The sheets pulled with him, allowing cold air to freeze Keith’s sweat-covered skin, and – as he sat up to snatch back the blankets – a pain shot through his rear and forced him to fall back down. Lotor appeared to take pity on him, as he flushed with the affects of the afterglow, and threw a section of the blankets over to him, so he could cover his body from the cold. They lay side-by-side upon their backs, while both boys stared up at the ceiling with blown pupils and swollen lips.

“Are you sure that’s what you wanted?” Lotor asked.

Keith furrowed his brow. He looked across the room to the clock above the door; it would only be a few hours until Shiro came to pick him up, so awkward pillow-talk would be hard to endure, and – as the ten year old wiped the come away with the sheets – he shrugged. It was strange when Lotor wasn’t willing to lick away the come from his stomach, as the thirteen-year old always seemed to be ready for foreplay and shared intimacy, but today he simply rolled off and stared at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

It was difficult to analyse his expression, impossible to understand his tone. He spoke in a monotone voice that held no inflection, while his lips and eyes gave no trace of a smile or frown, and he clasped his hands above his chest. Keith managed to slow his heartbeat, but already the sudden distance weighted on him like a knife. It hurt. He rolled onto his side and ran through a thousand answers in his mind, desperate to find the right one. Keith asked:

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me, yes,” said Lotor.

“I just want for you to feel good.” Keith chanced to move a little closer. “You said you liked when we did stuff, and you wanted to try going all the way, so what’s the problem? Am I doing something wrong? If you want me to do something different, I can do that.”

“I believe sex is meant to be something shared, Keith. It feels too much like I’m taking something from you, and – while we may not have been doing this long – I will admit that I’m not comfortable going all the way. I just assumed _you_ at least wanted to do this, because you panic whenever I suggest we stop and you have . . . a reputation.”

Keith winced, as he rolled away from Lotor. He pulled the blankets up to his chin, as he tried to still his heart and fight the way his mouth dried, and – as he screwed shut his eyes – he allowed a brief moment of darkness to provide some comfort. Lotor sighed and rolled onto his side. A hand rested above the sheets on his thigh, before it slid its way up to his hip and finally onto his shoulder, where it squeezed through the sheets with a reassuring grip, and Keith appreciated how Lotor avoided touching his bare skin with equally bare skin.

“This is enjoyable,” said Lotor, “but do you really not worry? It is not as if we can ask for protection, plus there are so many other pleasurable activities in which we can participate. I worry that sex had become the only way to show our affection, when there are so many other ways with which to show we care for one another. Do you not understand that?”

“No, I don’t,” whispered Keith. “I don’t have anything else to give you, Lotor. I’m just a kid. I’m not good at anything else, but I’m good at _this_. I don’t want you to leave me, because you and Katie are the only friends I have. I don’t want to be alone again. I don’t.”

“If you care for me so much, why are you sleeping with others?”

Keith froze. The quick beating of his heart pounded hard within his ears, while a cold dread swept over his body and brought back an uncomfortable sweat, and – as come dripped down his thighs from his used hole – he glanced toward the bedroom door. It remained closed, providing a barrier to the outside world, but it lacked a lock and every few minutes he would hear footsteps walk by outside. The creaks reminded him that a world existed outside of Lotor’s room. Keith scrunched closed his eyes, as tears beaded in the corners.

“I’m not,” he spat.

Lotor let out a growl that sounded primal. He pulled his hand away and rolled onto his back, while he stared up at the ceiling with half-narrowed eyes, and Keith – feeling his absence all too keenly – threw himself onto his other side, as he crawled beside Lotor and tried to rest his head upon his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Lotor did not respond. The rejection cut into Keith deep, as his mind swam and his vision blurred, and he fought back tears.

He waited for the longest minute of his life, but the tears would spill any second. Keith would not cry in front of Lotor; he knew any sign of weakness was something to be exploited, with fellow students mocking him and teasing him for any display of emotion, and he would not let himself be belittled just for feeling so . . . so . . . so _worthless_. He tried to pull away. He wanted to climb to his feet and just run . . . run until he was alone like he deserved . . . but Lotor sighed and held him close, before throwing the blankets over their heads.

It confused Keith, until arms and legs wrapped around him. Lotor was latched onto him, preventing him from moving, but it didn’t feel confining or claustrophobic, but more the comfort of being swaddled and kept safe in a tight embrace. The blankets over their heads kept them in total darkness, which allowed Keith to weep without being seen, and weep he did into the crook of Lotor’s neck. Lotor whispered in a firm voice:

“You’ve blown at least four boys.”                                                                                              

“Five,” sobbed Keith. “So?”

“So oral sex is still sex.” Lotor huffed in frustration. “It won’t be long before the rumours make their way to the teachers, but nor will it be long before you’re caught. Why are you sucking off other guys like that? I don’t want to share you, but I also don’t want to keep you to myself if you’d rather be with someone else. I don’t need sex like you do, Keith.”

“Look, it’s – it’s not like that!” Keith clenched his fists and glared. “You don’t know what it’s like, Lotor. It’s the only way I can get them to like me! I know – _I know_ – that sex isn’t something I should just give away; I’ve been in therapy since I was five, they kept telling me not to sleep around, but the guys _like_ when I blow them. They tell me I’m good and stroke my hair and act nice to me in the hallways. They stop hating me.”

“They’re just using you, Keith. I know that they’re using you, because I’m using you, too. I was curious, I wanted to have sex, and you were willing to put out, but . . . I respect you. I hear what they call you; they make bets who can fuck you first, some even want to offer to pay you, and they call you a ‘whore’ and a ‘slut’ and a ‘come-bucket’.”

“I – it’s not – they – they don’t . . . they like me. They do.”

The tears fell silently from his eyes. He was too tired to sob and too drained to care, instead numb inside to the truth he had replaced one feeling of worthlessness for another, and would rather be a disposable commodity than a broken toy with no use at all. He held Lotor back, as one of the few people in his life that he could trust to let go once he asked, and knowledgeable that he wouldn’t be bound against his will with physical intimacy that made him uncomfortable at the best of times. Lotor stroked circles on his back, as he confessed:

“I just want them to like me.”

Lotor sighed and ran a hand through Keith’s black hair; the gesture knocked the blanket and allowed a shaft of light into their makeshift den, and Keith caught a flinch of pain upon his lover’s lips that spoke almost of empathetic understanding. Keith sniffed, as he rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. It was warm and humid under the blankets, with the stench of sweat and sex and semen, and he almost missed as Lotor whispered:

“They like you because you put out.”

“How else can I get them to want me around?” Keith asked.

“If they do not want you for you, they are not worth your time.” Lotor tensed beside him. “I know what it means to not be wanted or respected; I forced them to respect me by mastering battle and my studies, and those that do not respect me are those that I seek to destroy. I do not sense that same anger in you, but I do see the ability to be respected for you.”

“What do you know? You – You don’t what it’s _like_ to be me! You don’t know how exhausting it is to have to constantly analyse other people to understand them . . . to have to try and work out their body language, their tone of voice, their proximity, their expressions their phrasing of words . . . then to remember if you’re making too much eye contact, too little, to remember cues when to talk and when to be quiet, how to say what you want to say, whether it’s too off-topic or too rigid to allow for a reply . . . it’s – it’s exhausting!

“I don’t get their jokes. I talk too much about things I’m passionate about. I don’t like to be touched, and I’m awkward in social situations, and I think too logically and practically so people accuse me of being cold-hearted! People accuse me of being a psychopath, but the truth is that . . . I care. I care more than I should, but I’m terrified to express that. I – I put up walls to keep people out, but sometimes . . . sometimes I just want to be wanted.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to be you, but I do like you, Keith.”

“Yeah? Why? Is it because I let you put your dick inside me?” Keith scoffed. “I know I’m not worth much; my father spent _four fucking years_ looking after me, enough time to build a bond and establish a relationship, but even he walked away. He walked away because there’s something fundamentally wrong with me . . . maybe it’s the autism, maybe it’s because I’m part-Galra, but he walked away. What can you possibly like about me?”

Keith clung to Lotor even without intent. He knew his fingertips would bruise those shoulders, but to let go would be to let go of the only thing grounding him, and all the while – as he choked back harsh sobs – he thought to the father who thought nothing of him. It was possible it was due to the disease in his mind, this thing that ate at him and separate him from all others, or possibly his heritage that marked him as something ‘other’, but whatever it was . . . it was beyond his control. He would always have it within him.

It hurt him to his core; to tell Shiro would only spread the worry, but to endure it alone only increased his pain and led to sleepless nights with many tears. He listened as Lotor sighed, holding him so close that it was painful, and one hand rested on the small of his back and the other on the back of his neck. The touch was a small comfort, but both young boys remained quiet and struggled to process the sheer excess of pure emotion.

“You are my friend, Keith,” said Lotor.

He pressed a chaste kiss to Keith’s head, as long locks of hair fell between them, and – with a mutually shared laugh – Keith sniffed and brushed back the hair, so he could return the kiss with a soft peck to full and bruised lips. They stayed pressed against each other for a long few seconds, while Keith licked away the tears from his lips and swallowed hard, as he let out a shuddered breath and closed his eyes in the darkness. Lotor continued to say:

“You see me as Lotor and not a prince.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not a prince.”

“I have no legal power over my people, but they still revere me as a prince.” Lotor sighed. “I have become a figurehead imbued with minor powers, expected to one day guide them and become a role-model, but you do not place expectations on me. You simply see me as a young man with strengths and weaknesses, as a . . . person.”

“Your gang see you as a person, too,” mumbled Keith.

“You are also incredibly loyal; even with your issues towards Shiro, you still respect him and love him, allowing him to be your brother and friend and hero. You are passionate about engineering with an ambition to be a fighter-pilot, which – honestly – I foresee you doing well at in the years to come. You are top of your classes. You are _extremely_ handsome. You are competitive which makes games interesting, and a little stubborn in nature, too.

“I do not see you as ‘different’ or ‘weird’, just for being autistic, any more than you see me as ‘cruel’ or ‘arrogant’ just for being Galra. I see you as my friend that suffered more than his years, whose vocabulary increased dramatically after every therapy session, and who taught me to love myself, even when Haxus often forgot to so much as feed me.”

“If you really like me, d-don’t I owe it to you to pay you back? No – No one else likes me like that, Lotor, e-even Katie calls me weird and teases me. We fought once, too. I don’t want to lose you, because you’re all I have left. I want you to feel good.”

Lotor sighed, as he rolled Keith onto his back. He sat astride the young boy, until pert buttocks rested on top of a flaccid cock, and the blankets slid down his back like water from skin, dropping over their legs and providing some warmth in the cool air. Lotor looked down with pursed lips and soft eyes, as he rested his open hands upon Keith’s chest and leaned down to curtain off his face with long hair, and his eyes – only a few inched from Keith’s – locked with a stern gaze and when he spoke it was with a firm and honest voice.

“I will still be your friend, even if you don’t want sex.”

Keith wept.

The tears fell hard and fast; he raised his hands to force the base of his palms into his eyes, as the pressure caused specks of light to spark against his eyelids, but Lotor – with great gentleness – pulled his hands away and kiss each and every tear. The pain and grief and fear combined into one, until Keith pulled Lotor down, and they held each other in a tangled mess, clinging to each other for dear life, and Keith could only mutter ‘sorry’ over and over in an incoherent rant, until it was Lotor’s time to sniff and pull back. Lotor begged:

“Please, stop blowing the other students.”

“If I stop, they’ll be mean to me.”

“Then _please_ tell your therapist about this,” begged Lotor. “Ask yourself _why_ you’re sleeping with them. If it’s to get them to stop being mean to you, they’re abusing you and they’re forcing you to do what you don’t want. That’s rape. If it’s because you think it’ll get them to like you, where will you stop in future? Will you fuck them? Will you let them film it? Will you fuck them in groups, with chains, with drugs? Will they kill you?”

“You’re being over-dramatic,” whispered Keith.

“Did you hear that story about Coran?” Lotor asked. “He was frozen around the time of Allura and myself, but was unfrozen early due to some mechanical error. They say that he fucked and abused a boy . . . actually, there were many that later came to light. One said they used to let him, because they just wanted him to like them. Don’t be like them, Keith. He was arrested for a reason; he’s still behind bars now, all because what he did was wrong.”

“I – I _know_ that it’s wrong, Lotor. I know! I just . . . I just don’t know what else to do. I’ll talk to someone, I promise, but I just . . . can we still keep doing stuff, please? I just need someone to want me. If I stop doing stuff with them . . . if they start treating me like dirt again . . . I at least need to know I still have you. Don’t leave me, please.”

“I won’t leave you, and if what you need from me is something sexual –?” Lotor sighed and kissed him once more. “I shall provide that. There will come a point, however, when we must cut back. Ulaz has told you about Galra biology, yes? Every time we do this –”

“We risk one of us getting pregnant, I know,” said Keith.

He looked to Lotor’s stomach and swallowed hard. The idea of having a child terrified him, as he could picture how Shiro would pale and grow faint, just as he could picture how Ulaz would harden his gaze and potentially allow his voice to raise to a volume that would hurt his ears, and they would ground him or take away his privileges. Keith rubbed at his eyes, as he returned to clinging at Lotor and mumbled promises not to get them in trouble, and Lotor trailed kisses down his neck and stopped just above his collarbone to say:

“I did truly intend for this to be a one-time thing.”

“So why are we still doing it?”

“Because you are so afraid I will leave you,” admitted Lotor. “If continuing to be physical enables you to trust that I will stay by your side, I will allow that intimacy to continue, but I must insist that you stop doing these things with anyone else. I am jealous and I do not like to share, and I also worry . . . I worry because it puts you at risk, Keith.”

Keith winced and fidgeted with a lock of Lotor’s hair. It was soft upon his skin, while it wrapped around his fingers and provided a small comfort, and – in his momentary distraction – he failed to notice all other sounds around him. There was a buzz from his phone upon Lotor’s desk, while music played from a downstairs room, and outside car horns beeped and sounded until the cacophony of sounds began to overwhelm Keith, so that he buried his head into the crook of Lotor’s neck in a desperate attempt to hide from all the sensations.

“You’ll stay with me?” Keith asked.

“Always,” promised Lotor.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

“That’s it,” said Shiro. “I’m going to kill him.”

Shiro clenched his fists until crescent-shaped cuts appeared on his palm, while his teeth ached under the pressure he applied to his jaw, and he stared at Lotor – unable to look away – until his eyes grew sore and tears pricked at the corners. The kitchen grew icy cold. A sweat broke over his body, as his heart raced loud enough to echo in his ears. Shiro drew in a deep and slow breath, and stormed forward toward Lotor with a violent speed.

The room blurred around him. He saw only Lotor, as he dove for the adult prince, but two thick and muscled arms wrapped around his waist and yanked him back, while that young man – with a smug smirk, eyes narrowed into a condescending glare – looked him over as if he were no more than a mere distraction to be shrugged from sight. Shiro tried to yank out of the grip that kept him away from Lotor, but he was held tight in place and thrown back. He stumbled a few steps and braced himself upon the kitchen counter. Shiro lunged again.

This time he properly saw Ulaz.

Ulaz stood before him and pushed him back. It jolted Shiro back to reality; he ran a hand through his hair and took in deep breaths, while he looked his fiancé over and realised that Ulaz never once raised a hand to him in all their years together. This was a man that never raised his voice. He would never punish Keith with so much as a ‘naughty step’, lest he feel isolated or rejected, so to so much as physically restrain him was beyond imagination. It brought a heavy stone to Shiro’s stomach, as he let out a staggered exhale of breath.

He slumped his shoulders, while he reached out to Ulaz and let his hand linger, and Ulaz – knowing Shiro better than he knew himself – took his hand and pulled him into a firm embrace, so that they stood locked together with lips pressed to necks. Shiro blinked away tears, as he allowed Ulaz to stroke his hair and whisper to him words of reassurance in his native language. The warmth from his lover provided a small comfort.

Shiro eventually let go of Ulaz. He stepped back and looked beyond the breakfast bar; Keith stood beside the young man with wide eyes and parted lips, his skin pale as he looked to his big brother with absolute confusion and surprise, and Shiro sighed in relief that Ulaz was there to hold him back. He looked to the lounge behind them, where he blinked away tears in memory of the toys that once littered the rug and the crayon-coloured pictures that covered his tables, and he missed the young boy that once ran into his arms for hugs.

“You knocked up my brother?” Shiro spat.

He saw the almost imperceptible wince cross Lotor’s expression. The purple skin of that princely face paled, while the arrogance drained from his expression, and – as he lowered his head just enough to cast a shadow about his neck – he locked eyes with Shiro, refusing to move his gaze even as he folded his eyes across his black bodysuit. Keith reached out with a gloved hand to squeeze his partner’s shoulder, as he quirked a half-smile and looked to Shiro with a canine tooth digging into his lip, as he nodded in acknowledgement of the situation.

“Actually, Shiro,” muttered Keith. “Lotor is the one who’s pregnant.”

“What? You’re kidding. Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

Shiro reached out to take a hold of Ulaz’s upper arm, where he squeezed to ground himself and find some form of reassurance, and Ulaz – knowing him all too well – led him over into the lounge and sat him down upon the white leather sofa. He sighed, as his lover sat beside him. There was an array of sounds from the kitchen, while Lotor walked across from them with soft footsteps, and the prince sat down while Keith ran back with two glasses of water, both stacked to the rim with ice and lemon slices. One for Shiro. One for Lotor.

The water cooled Shiro’s throat, as he gulped it down until it was gone. He looked to Lotor and saw a bead of sweat upon his forehead, while his stomach did have a slight swell that strained the material of his skin-tight suit. Shiro knew too little on Galra pregnancies; he only knew that their species had one gender, as well as that – once puberty was over – they developed a knot at the base of their penis during sex. That had been a shock during his first time. He remembered a momentary panic, as he struggled to get away from being stretched to breaking point, and Ulaz’s panic in turn at Shiro’s seemingly strange reaction.

“So how long have you two been . . . having sex?”

“You sure you want to know?” Keith asked.

“I do not believe he does,” observed Lotor. “It is advisable, Shiro, never to ask a question if one does not desire an answer. You cannot unlearn what you are told. Frankly, I am hesitant to put myself in a situation that invokes your wrath, at least in my condition, and I believe our time would be better spent discussing how best to move forward. Do you not agree?”

“Keith is seventeen, Lotor,” spat Shiro. “He was abused as a child, in case you forgot. I – I can overlook you guys having sex, because you’re both the age of consent, but to have a _child_ so young is a whole other matter, so – yes – I want to know when this started.”

“When it started will not change the outcome of events.”

“Look, _one of you_ is going to answer the question.”

Keith sighed and looked to Ulaz, who simply shook his head in response. There would be little support for secrecy, especially when they all remembered well what horrors secrecy brought, and so Keith looked down at his hands and fiddled with his fingers. The way he bit at his lips made Shiro wince, too afraid that he would draw blood or scar his lips, but he remained silent while Keith found the strength to continue. They sat in relative silence, with only small sips from Lotor echoing in the air, until Keith mumbled:

“It was when I was ten.”

The silence deafened Shiro. He reached to his side and took Ulaz’s hand, where he squeezed so tight that he worried his might bruise those knuckles, and – as he took in a deep breath, with chest puffed out – he looked to Lotor with a dark glare and bit his inner lip until he tasted the familiar iron of blood. Ulaz squeezed his hand back, as he blinked away tears and looked to Keith. It was difficult to remember that he was no longer a child.

“Ten?” Shiro asked. “You were ten?”

“Y-Yeah,” choked Keith. “I was getting bullied at school. I didn’t want to tell you, because I didn’t want to be weak, and I also didn’t want to be _fussed_ over and babied and pitied, because I hate all that stuff. I kept it quiet. I kept it quiet when they found out I was abused and accused me of wanting it, just like I kept quiet when one of the boys pushed me down the stairs, and I kept quiet when they’d call me names and say I was a ‘retard’. I just wanted them to _like_ me, so I thought maybe they’d like me if I did stuff with them.

“I – ah – fooled around with about five of them. I got a huge reputation; Lotor found out and it was that age when everyone’s talking about sex, and he was hit pretty hard by puberty, and he wanted to know what it was like, so he asked if he could fuck me. I said ‘sure’, because I didn’t see any reason to say ‘no’. We did it about three or four times, I think? Lotor wanted to stop after the first time, but I freaked out. I thought sex equalled love, so . . .

“Yeah, we kept doing stuff, but Lotor _begged_ me to tell my psychiatrist and to not fool around with anyone else except him. I agreed. At the time it was just anything to keep him with me, but I started talking about this stuff with my psychiatrist and it took ages to work through my issues . . . think it was a year in all . . . so I was eleven by the time I was able to say ‘I’m not ready for sex’. Lotor wasn’t either, so we stopped having sex. We started to get on better, actually, like . . . like I could _finally_ just be a kid. I got to grow up.”

“Okay,” said Shiro. “So how did you go from abstinence to pregnancy?”

“Hey, what can I say? I’m _seventeen_ , Shiro.” Keith chanced a nervous smile. “It gets to a point where you have a _really_ hot boyfriend, and a constant erection, and you just realise that – for the first time in your life – you _know_ what sex is all about and you _want_ to really get off with someone that you can trust. We started a few months back; Ulaz gave us a big talk, even showed us how to use the condoms with a cucumber, which was disturbing –”

“Wait. You _knew_ about his?”

Shiro looked to Ulaz.

He let go of his fiancé’s hand. Ulaz simply raised his hands in mock surrender, as he looked between the two young men and back to Shiro, and his lips pursed in serious thought as he patiently waited to next speak. It was a stab of betrayal unlike anything Shiro expected; Keith was like a son to them both, with all major decisions being taken by the two of them, and here was a _huge_ milestone being taken without his knowledge or consent. Shiro swallowed hard, as he fought back a surge of adrenaline and frustration.

They sat in silence, while Shiro folded his arms across his chest. Keith folded his arms in turn, instinctively mirroring Shiro’s body language, and – as a flood of emotion overcame him – he remembered the boy who stood beside him at the bathroom mirror and pretended to shave with a face filled with shaving cream, and he remembered when he nicked himself how Keith would beg for a red marker to paint a matching spot on his chin in turn.

He looked to Keith now and saw a teenager fast becoming a man. Keith styled his hair into a mullet, while his clothes were fashionable and often made use of a lot of leather, and he always wore a stoic expression that often bordered on a frown. Shiro smiled to realise how Keith only ever softened around Ulaz and himself, as well as how he hoped that would always be the case, but now there was someone else in their lives . . . Lotor was another person to make Keith smile. Keith whispered in a low voice:

“We didn’t want him to tell you.”

“I thought it better to agree to their conditions,” admitted Ulaz. “I believed that this way they would have a constant supply of contraception, as well as someone in which to confide, but it seems that I failed. If I thought that the risk to our relationship would result in harm to the children, I can promise you that it is a risk I would not have taken.”

“He was putting his son first.” Lotor waved his hand. “I do admire him for that, as well as firmly believe that _you_ would have done the same thing in his situation, but – alas – no one warned us that oil-based lubricants with latex condoms are an _atrocious_ idea.”

“The condom broke,” muttered Keith. “We thought because it was a one-off –”

“We thought wrong.” Lotor gritted his teeth. “I am pregnant.”

Shiro drew in a deep hiss of breath. He buried his face into his hands, as he pressed the tips of his fingers into his arms, and – as he centred himself – he shot out his hand toward Ulaz and waited with palm-upward in hopes that it would be taken. Ulaz wasted no time, as he took that same hand and brought it to his lips for a chaste kiss. It was a great reassurance, to know his fiancé forgave him the earlier slight, and they returned to hands clasped between them, as Shiro fought back an urge to punch Lotor for the situation. He reminded himself of one thing:

 _Patience yields focus_.

He looked to Lotor, as he strove to remember that Lotor couldn’t self-impregnate, and this was a young man who was equally as complicit in his problem as Keith, but somehow his paternal urge refused to be quelled by logic alone. Shiro swallowed hard. Lotor looked around three to four months pregnant, but that was according to human terms, as he knew Galra pregnancies only lasted six months. He felt obliged to ask:

“Are you keeping the baby?”

“Yeah,” said Keith. “I told Iverson I’m dropping out. We still own the shack out in the desert, so I figured I’d turn it into an office and workshop, and I’d work full-time as a mechanic to bring in some income. I’d be self-employed and probably not have that much work, so I can look after the baby while Lotor works and goes on diplomatic missions and stuff.”

“It’ll be a fair compromise.” Lotor nodded to Keith. “Initially, the burden shall fall upon Keith while I finish college, but I do have a small inherited fortune and my people have also long ago volunteered a tax to keep their royal family, which means I can provide a small stipend in the interim for their heir’s benefit. Upon graduation, I can assume my right full-time as their king, and fully provide for _both_ Keith and our child.

“Essentially, I’ll be providing for our child only in its first two years, after that we can unite as a family with our savings and the taxation system and a property afforded to us upon the Galra home-planet, and I can provide for all of us within the family unit. There is a demand within my culture for mechanical engineers, so Keith will find a purpose.”

“It’s – It’s not ideal,” admitted Keith. “I’m still not sure I want to live with the Galra, but Lotor hasn’t much choice because he’s the prince they waited _millennia_ to get back, but I could always stay here with our son or we could work long-distance, I guess.”

“We _do_ still have four months before the baby is born,” said Lotor.

“Y-Yeah, we’re kind of worried about that.”

Shiro sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. He squeezed upon Ulaz’s hand, as he fought back the urge to point out the contradictions and vagueness of their plan, and he used every last ounce of self-control to hold back the urge to forbid Lotor from taking Keith off-planet, especially when it brought him to the verge of a panic attack. Shiro looked to Keith, where he nodded for him to continue and forced a smile, and Keith – with a shuddered breath and a hand through his hair – finally confessed his primary concern.

“We’re trying to find a place to live.”

There was a momentary silence. Shiro looked between Keith and Lotor, where he saw absolute concern and genuine fear, and he suspected that Haxus would likely cast Lotor out upon learning the news – potentially forcing him off-planet to a royal abode, as he would have nowhere else to feasibly stay long-term – and that would bring many issues. They were afraid, both pale and with eyes downcast, and yet Shiro couldn’t help but laugh.

He caught the anger in Keith’s eyes, as he stifled it back and raised his hand in mock surrender, before he looked to Ulaz and – silently signalling to him with eyes alone – found permission in what he was about to suggest, as Ulaz nodded his consent with a smile. The two men shared a long look, before they took deep breaths and turned back to the young men with barely hidden laughter. Shiro was still furious with Lotor, but the idea that they truly believed Shiro would see them homeless was too absurd not to be amused.

“You’ll stay here,” conceded Shiro.

“R-Really?” Keith asked. “You mean it, Shiro?”

“It’s _only_ temporary, but yes.” Shiro sighed with a smile. “I want you both out the _second_ you can financially support yourselves, because part of being an adult is taking responsibility over your actions, and I want you both to be the best that you can be, but you need a foundation to build upon. I’m your guardian, so let me help you build that foundation.”

“I will also insist upon separate rooms,” added Ulaz with a firm tone. “We will convert the spare room into a nursery space for Lotor, but we will expect him to move out upon graduation, once he had found a permanent solution. If you wish to be intimate, I would advise you do so not underneath our roof, as my patience has worn thin. Once the baby is born, we will provide you assistance, especially if Keith does rejoin the Garrison.”

“He’s right, Keith. You _need_ to go back to the Garrison, because it’s the best way to provide for Lotor and the . . . _baby_.” Shiro winced. “If you do decide to work as a mechanic or engineer, we will support you unconditionally, but don’t feel you have no other choice, because we can rearrange our work schedules to help look after the child.”

“We’ve still a lot to work out,” admitted Keith. “We – er – didn’t even think about kids, not with Lotor’s issues and my . . . stuff. I knew one would be expected of him, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon and I’m just – I’m – I’m just . . . I’m scared, Shiro. I’m scared.”

“He thinks he will become his father,” said Lotor.

Keith winced and looked down at his hands. He looked so human, but his heritage hung in the air like an unspoken question. Shiro never knew who Keith’s mother – or other father, if pure Galra – was in identity, just as he never truly had a real relationship with their father to comment much upon him, but he knew that fear just as real as Keith. It was something that gnawed at him every single day in those past thirteen years . . . _will I walk away from him? will I be able to provide for him? will I be able to love him?_. . . so far, love had been enough to glue him to Keith’s side, although that only brought further questions.

If love was enough that Shiro overcame all obstacles, why was it not enough for their father to remain in their lives? Shiro always believed the fault lay with the man, but Keith was of the mind that the fault was intrinsic in himself, as if a small boy could have any impact or control over a full grown adult. Shiro drew in a shuddered breath and mentally made a note to contact Keith’s therapist, adamant that this would be something dealt with sooner than later, and he swallowed hard to utter the most serious request of his life:

“We can discuss that with your therapist.”

“Just be aware that you are not your father,” added Ulaz. “If anything, he has made his mistakes so that you can learn from them. You have not once lacked for anything in life, nor have you ever needed his presence, and I have full faith that this is one more thing you will overcome and master. Besides, you will have us to help guide you.”

“He’s right, Keith,” said Shiro. “We’re here by your side; I promise we’ll let you both raise your child how you see fit, but if you _do_ veer towards our father then _we’ll_ be here to help steer you back, because . . . well . . . you’re like a son to me, Keith. I’m proud of you.”

“While I am not proud of _this_ , I am also proud of _you_ , son.”

Keith’s eyes welled up with unshed tears. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, using a rough and unsteady movement, before he sent a trembling smile in their direction, and – as he looked between them – Shiro noticed how Lotor caught his hand and squeezed much like how Shiro would squeeze Ulaz. It brought a sense of ambivalence; a part of him wanted to swat his hand away, while another was content that such trust lay between them, and he forced himself to be happy with the fact that Keith was happy. Keith smiled.

“Thanks, guys,” said Keith.

They sat in an awkward silence, while Lotor rubbed circles on the back of Keith’s hand, and – as Shiro watched them – he realised there was far more to discuss. Lotor would need a birth plan, just as they would need to purchase things for the baby, and they would also need to agree upon a name, custody, whether to raise them Galra or human, where to raise them, if they had the same long-term life plans . . . it was an endless list. Shiro sighed. It would be a long evening while they worked out all the details. He said in a firm voice:

“Now, about the birth itself . . .”

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Thace, can you stop that?”

Keith slid out from underneath the vehicle. He sat upright and grabbed a washcloth beside the toolbox, which was thankfully still cool despite the heavy sunlight, and – as he wiped the grime and oil from his hands – looked to his son with a firm eye. Keith realised he likely looked a mess, jeans torn from so much hard labour and black t-shirt clinging to him with sweat, and yet Thace looked to him like Keith was the greatest thing in the world.

The boy was tall for his age, enough that he towered over other children. He took vastly after Lotor in his height and skin colour, while his facial features and hair were identical to Keith, and Thace’s eyes – so beautiful and blue – were such a match for Lotor that they brought a smile to Keith’s eyes whenever he saw them. It was as if the boy was the perfect blend of them both; he only really shone in individuality when it came to personality, instead displaying the best traits of Ulaz and Shiro, and bearing a striking maturity.

“I’m trying to work,” said Keith.

He threw the cloth to one side, as he climbed to his feet and looked down with hands placed firmly upon his hips, and Thace – with a grin inherited from his other father – mimicked his exact body language and lifted his head high, so that he could stare Keith down in turn. It was oddly cute, especially as Thace appeared to be choking back a laugh, and those sharp canine teeth appeared dangerously prominent as he smiled up at his father. Keith pursed his lips, tempted to confiscate the ball under his foot. He knew Thace would continue to play.

“Okay, give me the ball,” ordered Keith. “Go play inside.”

“No! I want to play with you.”

“I told you.” Keith narrowed his eyes into a dark glare. “I’m working. If you want to play, you’ll have to play quietly inside. Go watch a movie or something, okay?”

Thace’s hands dropped limp by his sides. Those five-year old eyes grew watery, while those lips started to tremble, and Keith – as he pinched the bridge of his nose to fend off an oncoming migraine – realised that perhaps fatherhood found him before he was ready. He saw that little chest puff out with short and violent jerks, as Thace drew in great puffs of air, and he had no choice but to squat down on the balls of his feet. He forced a smile, as he rested his hands upon his knees, and scratched awkwardly at his mullet.

“Did your pops tell you who you’re named after?” Keith asked. “You’re named after a man who helped _destroy_ the Galra Empire. He was a double-agent, like . . . a spy. You like spy movies, right? Spies are quiet. Why don’t you pretend to be a spy?”

The suggestion didn’t go down well.

Thace burst out into loud cries, while tears streamed down his cheeks. Two tiny fists came up to his eyes as they rubbed tight circles, while his head came down and his bun came fully loose, so black locks of hair shielded his face from sight. It broke Keith’s heart. The greatest difficulty in being a parent was communicating with his child, with sometimes it feeling like they spoke two different languages, and he hated accidentally hurting the greatest thing that ever happened to him. He swallowed hard and furrowed his brow.

The vehicle was outside the shack and attached workshop. He could already hear someone driving over the desert terrain to visit, and a sharp stab of panic overcame him as he worried someone might think the worst of him . . . _‘a bad parent’, ‘what can an autistic man know about raising children’, ‘wasn’t he abused as a kid’, ‘hope history doesn’t repeat itself’ . . ._ Keith knew all too well the cruelty of people. He also knew his son was half-Galra.

Keith never missed the way other children avoided Thace for his skin colour, while adults complained about the influx of alien races that resided around the Garrison, never really delving elsewhere on the planet. Thace was distressed. Those cheeks darkened  considerably, while he hiccupped through his sobs, and Keith continuously reached out and pulled away from his son, unsure how best to comfort him. Keith was in just a t-shirt, while Thace was equally dressed for the warm day, and to hug him meant skin-to-skin contact.

“Hey, smile, okay?”

Keith drew in a deep breath. He forced a smile and reached out for his son; the skin was cool and clammy against him, and the way his skin stuck to that of his son made his muscles tense, while his teeth gritted against the overwhelming sensations. There was an urge to pull away, to rub his skin raw until he could rid himself of the sensations, but he continued to hold the boy and awkwardly pat at his back in a way of reassurance. Thace groaned.

It wasn’t enough to quell him, but Keith struggled to think of any other way to get quiet. He hated the way his heart raced, especially when his ears ached and all other sounds were drowned out, and there were now too many stimulus, so that his mind swam and grew hazy and his mouth ran dry with stress. Keith barely heard the car pull up. He let go of Thace at once, as he heaved a loud sigh and let all the tension release from his muscles, and he stepped back as the boy screamed all the louder, causing him to wince in pain. The newcomer asked:

“Is he okay?”

Keith saw Shiro wander over with long strides. Lotor and Ulaz were still climbing out of the car when Thace ran over to his uncle and jumped into waiting arms, before he was swung around in a huge circle and lifted up onto one hip. He bounced up and down a few times, until cries turned into laughter, and tiny arms wrapped around Shiro’s neck, as he placed kisses to Shiro’s cheeks and squealed with laughter when Shiro pretended to drop him, only to scoop him up and smother him with kisses in turn. Keith sagged with relief.

“He’s fine,” muttered Keith.

“He doesn’t look fine.” Shiro saluted Thace with a free hand. “Hey there, Soldier! If you smile for Uncle Shiro, I’ll tell you all about the adventure your pops and I had on the way here. Spoiler alert -! There was a pack of wild dogs, but that’s not nearly as exciting as the –” Shiro raised his hand to shield his mouth and whispered “– _aliens_.”

“A-Aliens?” Thace sniffed and rubbed at his nose. “Really?”

“Really! Let’s go inside where I can tell you all about it! Your pops used to love my stories growing up, but then he got his sense of humour stolen by the –” Shiro paused to drop Thace onto the floor with an exaggerate growl and pantomimed clawed hands “– _Tickle Monster_!”

Keith laughed as Shiro chased Thace. He kept hands high and snapped them together every so often, before he swept Thace up high into the air and then dropped him to the ground, and suddenly two hands were tickling Thace until the boy couldn’t breathe. Shiro let go and gave his nephew a devilish look, which Thace took as a sign to run, and – as he called back ‘can’t catch me’ – Shiro gave chase until they were inside the shack and making raucous noise through their play-fights and games. Keith cricked his back and shook his head.

“It is enough to make me wish for one of my own,” said Ulaz.

Ulaz came towards him with open arms; Keith hesitated but carefully came towards him, only to smile and warmly embrace Ulaz back when he carefully evaded Keith’s bare skin, purposely draped his arms over cloth-covered shoulders and patting his back. He also let go after a few seconds, so that awful claustrophobic sensation would be avoided, and soon Lotor came over to them with head held high and in full regal attire, complete with cape.

They stood in relative silence, until Lotor pulled Keith into a warm embrace. He relished in how those soft hands ran up and down his arms, while those soft lips pressed chaste kisses to his neck, and – as he quietly laughed at the gentle intimacy – he reached up to tangle his hands in Lotor’s hair and traced patterns along his lapel. It was good to meet warm skin and cool armour, while Lotor whispered words of love to him, and they touched everywhere they could reach as they re-familiarised themselves with each other. Keith blinked away tears.

Lotor stepped back, while he ran his hands up Keith’s chest. He stopped once he reached soft cheeks, and he held upon Keith’s face with a warm smile, which crinkled the corners of his eyes and brought a flush to his face. Keith lifted his hands to hold onto those of his husband, as he leaned into the touch and smiled once a chaste kiss was delivered to his lips. Ulaz cleared his throat; the two men pulled away with a blush, and Lotor said in a quiet voice:

“You look stressed, my love.”

“It was just so much easier when he was a baby,” admitted Keith. “You just needed to feed him, change him, and burp him. I could sit him in the corner and forget he was there. I – I don’t know what to do any more; every day when Shiro and Ulaz leave, I’m all alone with him and he always wants so much _attention._ I just want to work and rest.”

“Shiro and I have been discussing your situation,” said Ulaz with a slight bow. “We understand how difficult it must be for Lotor to split his time between two worlds, as well as for you to serve as Thace’s primary caregiver in his absence, and – as such – we would like to offer you some further help. We are at a place where financially I am able to quit work, which means I can watch Thace for you as often as you need. It is no problem.”

“I – I couldn’t ask you to quit work for us.”

“It is fine. Shiro and I were considering trying for a second child; our first was the greatest success of our lives, and we would find great joy in sharing that love with another.” Ulaz nodded to Keith and smiled a sincere smile. “I would cease my diplomatic work regardless, as we do not wish to engage with babysitters or childminders. I would have the resources to thus watch Thace for longer hours, even for some nights if you wish.”

“A kind gesture, but unnecessary should Keith come with me,” said Lotor with a sideways glance to Keith. “I do keep pleading with him to return to the planet of our people, but – alas – he has far too many sentimental ties to this . . . place. I found so many different races, far more biracial people of differing origins, and all _so_ discriminated upon.”

“I know you had it rough growing up,” said Keith, “but that –”

“Tell me, how many friends does our son have?”

Keith winced and looked over to the shack. It was a small building, with just enough space for an office and kitchen downstairs, with the extension serving as a workshop for smaller appliances and motorbikes, and the upstairs was just barely enough space for himself and their son. He thought to how Ulaz home-schooled Thace, as well as to how Shiro baby-sat over the weekends, and he realised – with a heavy heart – they were perhaps Thace’s only two friends, if they could be called that. Keith let his face fall and pale.

“I thought so,” said Lotor.

There was no time for a reply, as the doors to the shack opened up. The quiet between the adults was now over; Thace stood on the porch and looked around, his blue eyes looked over Keith and Ulaz with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, but then his eyes fell upon Lotor and his entire expression changed. It was exactly how he looked at Christmas, when a mountain-sized pile of gifts waited for him, almost all from Lotor and his uncles. 

The boy jumped up and down, while Shiro stepped behind him, but – before Shiro could scoop him up into his arms – Thace ran at full speed toward his other father. It was an admirable speed, broken only by how Thace jumped a good foot or so from him, only to be lifted high into the air by two toned and muscled arms. Lotor threw him several times, each time bringing forth loud squeals and laughter, before dropping him to his hip and holding him close, with his nose buried into black hair. Thace laughed and hugged back, as he chirped:

“Daddy, you’re home!”

Lotor frowned and looked to Keith. Keith simply raised his hands in mock surrender, while his brother wandered over and Thace continued to pull upon Lotor, sometimes tugging clothing and sometimes yanking at his hair, but – all the while – he babbled aimlessly about his day and studies and favourite cartoons. The wind picked up, which led to Ulaz gesturing them toward the house, and soon they stood upon the porch. Thace continued to babble.

“At least one considers this rock ‘home’,” chided Ulaz.

“He will one day be required to return to our planet.” Lotor let out a hiss of breath, as his eyes fell to the child sat upon his hip. “It is vital for him to learn about the people he must rule, as well as the history of our empire which must never be repeated, and he must acquaint himself with the climate and culture of our home world. This is not a place for him.”

“Well, why not?” Keith argued. “You spent your childhood here, but the Galra consider you to be a great emperor. Plus, you _still_ spend your time travelling the universe and a lot of your time here, so what’s to stop Thace from doing the same thing? It’s all good, right?”

“I hoped he could do what I will not.”

Ulaz cleared his throat, as he gazed between them. He reached out with his hands toward Thace, who – with great predictability – clung to the father he desperately missed and buried his head between arm and chest, and Lotor simply smiled and rested a free hand upon his hair, as he smoothed away kinks and creases. Ulaz coughed again. Lotor shot him a dark glare, unwilling to let go of the child he was parted from for so long, but – with heavy reluctance – gentle attempted to slide Thace over into the arms of his uncle.

It did not go well.

Shiro winced from inside the shack, while Keith covered his ears from the porch. Thace screamed long and hard, as he kicked at Ulaz and clawed at Lotor, and it was clear to all of them that there would be no way to separate son from father without causing great distress to a boy too young to realise that – _no_ – Lotor wasn’t handing him off just to immediately leave him once more. Ulaz gnawed at his lip, with focussed eyes, before he finally backed off.

The air grew cold as night advanced. Keith shuddered with the chill, missing the excessive warmth of the day, and he watched over Ulaz’s shoulder while Shiro walked about the office area turning on lights and moving things about. It was a space that _could_ double as a social area with effort, but not ideal with four adults and a small child. Thace started to quieten his cries, as he sobbed a few times almost in warning, and his eyes were red and puffy from his earlier cries. Ulaz looked to him and softened in sympathy. He whispered to Lotor:

“You cannot talk with him present.”

“We’ll find a way,” said Keith. “It’s been a whole month. I think he’s just scared that Lotor’s going to leave again; we can keep telling him it’ll be a good few weeks before he has to leave, but it’s not like he’s going to get that at his age. He’s just scared.”

“Very well, but remember leaving his home will also cause distress.”

“ _We_ are his home,” spat Lotor.

Ulaz hissed in breath, as he stormed into the shack. The door slammed shut behind him. Keith winced at the heavy noise, before allowing a heavy sigh of relief, and he reached out to ruffle Thace’s hair with a dull smile. Thace smiled back with bright and sincere eyes, as he cocked his head and laughed an innocent laugh at finally being reunited with both parents, and there was something to be said that they could truly make a home wherever they could be together. He just knew that neither he nor Thace could leave Shiro or Ulaz.

“You don’t have to be so mean,” said Keith.

Lotor winced and his expression softened. He lifted his son a little higher, so that tiny arms could lock around his neck and he could cuddle the boy against him, and he buried his head against Thace and breathed deep the scent of his hair. Keith stepped beside him. The porch lights came on, forcing him to blink to adjust his eyes, and he realised – as he looked around – night was finally falling upon them. Lotor whispered with a broken voice:

“They wish for you to stay here.”

“Well, yeah,” muttered Keith.

“I am twenty-five.” Lotor smiled and kissed Thace’s head. “I believe I am ready to settle down; this means that I wish for us to reside within one residence, which will eliminate how often I need to part from my family, and I also wish for another child so that this one – even if he never makes friends elsewhere – shall never suffer loneliness as we suffered.”

“See, that’s the thing. I don’t _want_ another kid; don’t get me wrong, I love Thace more than anything, but it’s _hard work_. I think I’m done. Plus, this is where my support base is. I don’t want to leave Shiro and Ulaz, and I don’t want to leave Katie and Hunk.”

“I do not wish to leave behind my planet and people, any time I seek to spend time with my husband or child,” added Lotor in a terse voice. “I do not wish to leave behind Acxa, Ezor, Zethrid or Narti, yet I must do so every so many weeks or months. We have both suffered greatly in life, Keith, as such I will not make demands of you to leave all that you know, but nor can I expect myself to continually make those same sacrifices.

“Our compromises are no longer compromises. It must be that either I sacrifice my throne, or you sacrifice your life here, else we continue to split our time and life between two worlds, and I do not know how sustainable that is in the long-term. The only other alternative is to part ways and split the year so that Thace is shared by us both. I do not like that.”

“I don’t like it either, but you’re asking me to leave my family!” Keith winced and ran a hand through his hair. “Just like I’m asking you to leave your throne . . . _fuck_ , this all seemed so much easier when we were kids. None of this even mattered back then.”

“You said a naughty word,” muttered Thace.

They both stopped to look upon their son. Thace was barely clinging onto his father, small hands slipping while his head rested upon an armoured chest, and his lips pursed and pressed in a strange continuous motion. He looked less red about the cheeks, while his eyes were fluttering open and closed in a rhythm that became progressively slower, and Keith could only reach out to stroke his hair and gently hum an old song taught to him by Shiro.

Thace was on the verge of sleep; he would probably spend the night tucked between his fathers, too afraid to let Lotor out of his sight, and that would probably lead to shared bathroom trips and shared showers and shared meals, something that – at the very least – gave Keith substantial more time alone, which was a vast relief. Still, the idea of having Thace out of his sight was a terror more than he could bear, and so he knew joint custody with the year split into two would be out of the question. Keith asked in a quiet voice:

“We need to talk, don’t we?”

Lotor let out a shuddered breath, as he pressed another kiss to Thace. Keith came beside him and rested a hand on the small of his back, while his other hand came up to stroke soft patterns upon their son’s hair, and together they basked in the moment of quiet. There were no pressures from the world around them. It was as if the universe contained only the three of them and nothing more, as they stood looking out at the stars and sand.

“Another day?” Lotor blinked away a tear. “I love you too much to contemplate a life without you, but I do love myself too much to contemplate a life of sacrifice. Allow me a day spent playing with my son, and a night spent enjoying my husband, and perhaps by the following day I shall be in a better place to discuss something so potentially life-changing.”

“Seventeen was way too young, wasn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, because I don’t regret a second I spent with you or that Thace came to us so early, but if he could have been born just a year or two later . . . once we had all this sorted . . . I don’t know. . .”

“Let this evening be about family,” begged Lotor.

Lotor pressed a chaste kiss to Keith’s forehead, and then his cheek, and then his lips, until soon they were locked in a passionate kiss with only their sleeping son between them to prevent from any extreme form of distraction. The tears fell upon their lips, so that the kiss was salty and bitter, and they pulled away breathless and realising that something had to give for them to both be truly happy. Keith was grateful the past was finally behind them, but somehow the future was more frightening than the memories that lingered. Lotor begged:

“Tomorrow? Let us talk about this tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” agreed Keith.

 

 

 


	11. Epilogue: Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not yet proofread, so do pardon slight typing errors.

** Epilogue: Lance **

_‘Hey, no way! That’s great.’_

The voice broke something inside Hunk.

Even so many years onward, it was recognisable. It was that familiar high-pitched sound always so expressive and emotive, filled with slang and colloquialisms, and that brought back too many memories, both painful and pleasant. He recalled nights awoken from sleep as his roommate argued on the phone, or laughter during classes as his classmate whispered jokes in his ear, and he remembered well the defence upon the stand from a virtual stranger.

Hunk dropped the grocery bag to the ground. There was a shatter of glass and a pop of various tubes, and dark stains appeared on the brown paper, as a river of tomato sauce trickled past his feet and onto the tyres behind him. It steamed from the hot tarmac, while the scent of tomatoes overwhelmed his senses, and – as he tried to still his racing heart – he struggled to breathe through a dry mouth and shallow breaths. He panicked. A cold sweat broke over his skin, while he leaned upon the roof of the car for support.

The parking lot was mostly empty; there was the occasional ramming of a horn, as two people tried to take the nearest space despite the entire lot being free, and there was the almost comforting sound of wonky wheels of a trolley being navigated over pot-holed tarmac, while parents nattered endlessly to their children as they walked. It took Hunk a few seconds to pinpoint the voice to the owner, until his eyes fell upon a mother-and-child spot.

 _‘So you got straight A’s_ , _huh?’_

A large seven-seat hatchback took up the space. Hunk saw a little girl by the legs of her father, perhaps seven or eight at the eldest, and dressed in an Altean dress that looked more expensive than anything Hunk owned. He saw how long brown hair cascaded down her back, complementing her brown skin, while her bright eyes looked up to her father with a bright smile, and – as she stood with hands on her hips and legs apart – he cringed to realise how much of her body language was learned from the generation above. _She looked just like him_.

The mother swung around with a young baby in her arms, which bore a mop of white hair just like hers, and – judging from the choice of attire – he assumed them to be a young boy, maybe six-months at the eldest. He saw balloons inside the car for someone aged thirteen, which clearly wasn’t one of the two children with them, and he looked around instinctively to see whether they forgot a child in the chaos of trying to get their family home. No one.

“H-Hey,” called out Hunk. “You forget a kid or something?”

The father furrowed his brow and stood straight. He folded his arms across a somewhat fancy suit, while he pursed his lips and glared straight at Hunk, but – as Hunk nodded to the balloons – his expression softened and his shoulders sagged. A few seconds passed, as the father opened his mouth ready to speak, but then realisation dawned upon him. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped down. He looked between his wife and Hunk with several sharp movements of his head, until he burst out into laughter and waved wildly over to Hunk.

“Hey, buddy!” Lance shouted. “How long’s it been?”

“Judging by those balloons, I’d say thirteen years at least.”

Lance bounced on the heels of his feet. He looked ready to run over at any second, but somehow found the sense to whisper an apology to Allura and drop down to place a kiss to his daughter’s forehead, and – with quick steps of long legs – ran over to Hunk and threw his arms around his long-lost friend. Hunk stood with arms frozen by his sides, until he drew in a deep breath and forced himself to return the embrace. Allura waved from across the way.

Hunk watched her from over Lance’s shoulder; the two children were bundled into the car, where a screen in the headrest played an old cartoon, and – for a terrifying moment – Hunk almost expected to see Coran’s show playing for them to watch. Instead, it was a cartoon version of Alfor and the Paladins. Allura nodded to him with a smile, before she slid into the front passenger seat and closed the car doors. The sudden quiet unnerved Hunk, as he let out a shuddered breath and swallowed hard, and he gnawed at his lip as he looked to Lance.

There was a grey streak through his brown hair, while lines appeared at the corners of his eyes and marked him as far older than the old memories. The suit was stained a little with sweat under the armpits, while the collar was loose and the tie hung low, and bags appeared underneath Lance’s eyes as if he barely slept. Hunk rapidly blinked and ran a hand through his hair, as he struggled to find something to say that would break the silence. Lance chirped:

“Oh, hey, you drop your stuff?”

Hunk looked down to the mess of groceries. Lance dropped down onto his heels and sorted the salvageable from the non-salvageable, and – as he handed up various items – Hunk quickly swore and fumbled to open the car door to drop them inside onto the floor. It took only a couple of minutes with some help, while Lance wrapped up the remains and dropped them into a nearby trashcan, before he ran back and stood proud before Hunk. Hunk leaned back against his car and fiddled with the keys in his hand, as he muttered back:

“Eh? Ah, yeah, thanks.”

“So, this is pretty weird, huh?” Lance scratched at the back of his neck. “I never thought I’d run into you like this, if I’m totally honest. We were just driving through town to get to pick Alfor up from camp, wouldn’t usually ever head here else, and – well – we thought we’d chance stopping off for some party supplies on the way. No one recognised me, thank God.”

“Alfor? I’m guess he’s the dude who’s just turned thirteen?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. He’s our eldest,” said Lance. “He’s the spitting image of Allura; white hair, dark skin, violet specks in his eyes . . . he’s _really_ passionate about music, so he begged us to let him go to a music camp for summer, and – you know – couldn’t say no.”

“Yeah, Rax and Vox are absolute terrors.” Hunk smiled and shrugged. “Rax wants to be a chef like me, so he’s _constantly_ following me everywhere I go, and he spends all his money on recipe books and ingredients and kitchen equipment. Vox just wants to play and read and watch TV, though, so it kind of evens out in terms of ‘easiness’. One’s pretty high-maintenance, but the other’s super low, so . . . yeah. It’s cool.”

“So you guys have two boys, huh? That sounds nice.”

Hunk gripped his keys hard enough to draw blood. The grooves dug into his palm, cutting into flesh, and it was only when he heard a drip upon the tarmac – rhythmic and hypnotic – that he swore and felt the pain for the first time. He threw his keys into his pocket and brought his hand to his lips, where he suckled at the wound and glared to Lance who looked genuinely concerned by his pain. They stood together in silence, while Lance raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, and the heat grew stiflingly hot. Hunk spat out:

“No one recognised you?”

The humidity grew until Lance was forced to grab at the collar of his shirt, and – as he wafted it back and forth – he sighed in mild relief and looked to the supermarket doors. It was the same layout inside, although Mr Schroeder retired long back and ‘Junior’ took over as manager instead, but the subtlest and strangest things had changed over time. The lobby now held an array of potted plants instead of just a bare space, while the walls were now a light pink instead of the yellowing magnolia, and more contemporary music played over the airs.

Hunk often ran into new students at the Garrison, as well as their families, and various commuters and tourists who used the town as a stopping point, but always – no matter how many years passed – the locals never went anywhere else to get in their daily necessities. It was so easy to make friends and catch up with old ones, as you would see entire generations be born and grow and live just by haunting the same old haunts. Lance sighed.

“It’s been over two decades,” said Lance.

“Yeah, but it may as well have been yesterday.” Hunk clenched his fists. “These things scar the community, dude. It’s like – It’s like a living memory imprinted on the town. There are _still_ people who don’t ring the police when something goes down, and _no one_ lets their kids play out front any more, and it’s like . . . like the trust has gone. You did that. _You_.”

“I – I know. It’s why we’re staying at motels outside of town, just to be safe. I know I’ve aged a lot, plus I’ve got the suit and new style and all, and I – er – changed my surname so people can’t recognise that when I hand ID over. Lance McClain is now Lance García.”

“Great. Good for you. So you’re – what – an office worker now?”

“Accountant, actually.” Lance blushed and ran a hand through his hair. “I was never much good at Garrison classes, plus it’s not as though I could work anywhere with or near children, and I couldn’t work again in law, either, so . . . I retrained and became an accountant. It pays well, but we also work _way_ up North, so we don’t run into anyone from my past life.”

“Your ‘past life’? Is that what we’re calling it? I’m going to be honest with you, Lance,” said Hunk in a very low whisper. “I’m fucking _pissed_. You raped Keith and nearly ruined his life, but here you are like nothing even happened! Why do you get to move on and be happy, while he has to live with the memories every second of every day until the day he dies? It’s not fair! I mean, I don’t want you to suffer, but I also don’t -! I – I don’t know.”

Hunk dug his hands into his hair. He turned and swore, as he kicked at a stray piece of glass from a broken jar, and blinked away the tears in his eyes. Lance made to reach out to him, but soon pulled back his hand and winced. They said nothing, but Hunk caught the eye of Katie who ran out of the supermarket with a plastic bag in hand, but – even as their eyes met and she waved – he knew she didn’t recognise Lance in the slightest. It was as if he were a ghost among the living, something there and not quite there. Hunk swallowed hard.

He waited for Katie to run across the road, before he looked back to his oldest friend, and saw how Lance paled and played with the cuffs of his shirt. There were thin lines around his wrists, raised and silvery in nature, and Hunk furrowed his brow for a closer look, only for Lance to jump and widen his eyes. Lance wrapped his arms around his chest and kept his wrists flush against his body, thus out of sight, as he whispered back:

“I – I did try to kill myself.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Hunk opened his mouth and let it stay open, as he looked back to the car – where Allura was turned around with a wide smile, gesturing to the baby as she sang along to the DVD – and wondered where things had taken such a dark turn. He slumped his shoulders and bit at his tongue until he tasted iron, and kept his head low to avoid looking Lance in his eyes. The hot weather was no good for the tense conversation, and Hunk loathed how his clothes clung to his skin slick with sweat. It was uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, man,” said Hunk.

“No, it’s cool,” murmured Lance. “I know why people want me to suffer, because it’s _exactly_ how like I wanted Coran to suffer. He did unspeakable things and every time I saw him happy it was like . . . like a blow to my chest. I was so _angry_. It was like karma and justice were just childish dreams, empty concepts, and I wanted to see him suffer like he made me suffer, because it felt like the only way to get closure and regain control. I – I was in pain.

“I knew everyone hated me. I couldn’t go back home, because my house was trashed and vandalised, and people kept trying to beat me or scream at me or steal whatever it was I was holding or using or looking at . . . I couldn’t even pause in the street without people thinking I was going to take a kid or something. I _deserved_ their hate, I know that, but at the same time I just wanted to be _better_ , but they kept telling me I _couldn’t_ be that! It got to a point I started to think I was doomed to be like Coran, and killing myself was the only way to protect people.

“Well, I failed. I was such a failure I couldn’t even _kill_ myself right. They – ah – actually forced me into therapy, which helped more than I can put into words, and I was released around a year later and able to start retraining for a new career. It’s where I met Allura. I was taking classes and she was also taking classes, because she wanted to learn more about Earthling culture and laws and history, and . . . we hit it off. We fell in love.”

“Here I thought you only had a thing for kids,” goaded Hunk.

“To be honest? So did I.” Lance shrugged. “It’s something I learnt in therapy; I’m a pretty sexual person, but I was also pretty traumatised by what Coran did to me. I was kind of both stilted and stuck as I was at that age, but also _terrified_ to be intimate with adults, because I couldn’t bear to endure anything like that ever again. I was attracted to kids, because I had total control . . . I couldn’t be the one abused or beaten or ignored. I was safe.

“Even with Allura knowing what I went through, it was difficult as hell. I used to flashback or get panic attacks with anything below the belt, and – when we got to that point – I’d sometimes just . . . disassociate . . . like I was outside of my body and just watching the sex stuff happen to someone else. It was another couple of years before I was fully comfortable.”

“So you’re not a threat any more?” Hunk asked. “You sure?”

A tear fell from Lance’s eye, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. Hunk’s chest seized up, as he was left breathless and suffocated, and he wondered – with the trauma this painful so many decades after – whether Keith would endure the same hardship. It was difficult to reconcile how someone so pained could choose to inflict that pain upon others, as if his empathy were non-existent, and Hunk was torn between sympathy and hatred. He looked to Lance and saw how he smiled despite his red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips.

“I won’t lie,” admitted Lance. “I think it’ll always be with me.”

“The attraction?” Hunk asked. “Aw, man . . .”

“No, see, that’s the thing. I learned that attraction doesn’t equal action. I’ll always be in control of my actions. _Me_. No one else. It doesn’t matter whether the world tells me that I’m doomed to offend, or how attractive I might consider someone like Keith, because _none of them_ have power over me. _I_ can say ‘no’ and _I_ can make the choice not to offend.”

“But what about your own kids? Isn’t that like . . . a temptation?”

“Hey, you’re straight, right? Well, does that mean you’ll be attracted to your mother or sister or whatever just because they’re female?” Lance smiled and shrugged. “It doesn’t work like that, dude, and I’ve never once felt that for them. Other kids? Sure. Not mine, though.”

Hunk winced and curled his lip. It was a sobering thought; he looked back to the children in the car, who laughed and played with total innocence, and something dark and cold gnawed at the pit of his stomach, as he feared that something might befall them in turn and all he did was watch them _knowing_ yet unable to protect them. He chewed at his lips and wondered whether he could realistically report Lance for a potential crime, just as he wondered whether he would only be causing Lance more pain over something he might never act upon.

“Okay,” said Hunk. “What about Keith in all this?”

Lance hugged himself tighter. He followed Hunk’s gaze back to his car, where Allura’s skin paled and her lips pursed in apparent concern, and – as he waved to her – there was a tremble in his hand that caused her to grab for the door-handle. Lance threw up both hands in surrender and signalled for her to stay put, as he forced a smile and waved in an attempt to dismiss her fears, but she continued to star intently at them with narrowed eyes. Allura was protective of Lance, enough she clearly didn’t perceive him as a threat.  Lance asked:

“How is Keith?”

“He’s moved off-planet,” mumbled Hunk. “He got hitched to Prince Lotor, so I’m kind o’ surprised you missed the news. Well, Emperor Lotor, I suppose. Anyway, he’s had a kid ages back, and – last I heard – they had a second kid, too. Shiro and Ulaz have got a boy of their own, even live over there with them, and it all seems to be going pretty well. Shiro comes back every year to visit, which is nice, and they seem . . . happy.

“Keith had it rough for a while. He kept doing sexual stuff with all the kids at his school, because he thought it was the only way to get people to like him, and he was in therapy right up until his late teens, I think? He might still be in therapy, actually. It messed him up, even caused problems between him and Shiro for a while, but he’s okay now. He’s good.”

“Do you think he’d want me to suffer?”

“I don’t know, man,” said Hunk with a sigh. “It sounds like you suffered enough. A part of me thinks it’ll never be enough, but another part of me thinks it’s stupid for everyone to be miserable, at least when everyone can be happy, but what Keith thinks . . . I don’t know. I think he would just want you to keep away, because he doesn’t want to relive it.”

Lance made to speak, but Allura climbed out of the car. The young woman – who hadn’t aged a day since being unfrozen all those years back – glared at Hunk, as if he were the problem and not her husband’s past actions, and Hunk resisted the urge to glare back. Lance laughed nervously and scratched again at his neck, while he flapped a hand in the air as if to appease her, but it was clear she was past appeasement. Hunk sighed and looked between her and the children in the car, before he looked back to Lance with narrowed eyes.

They stood in awkward silence. Hunk heard Katie laugh from afar, while her nieces ran down the street, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Matt spotted him and came over to say hello, at which point Lance _would_ be recognised. Lance kicked at the floor, as his free hand fidgeted and moved about his body, as if unsure what to do and how to act, before he stepped toward Allura and made his choice to finally depart. Lance asked politely:

“Er, hey, do you want to grab dinner together later?”

“No, I really _don’t_ ,” admitted Hunk.

“Ah, right. Okay.”

“Still, I wish you well and I’ll always care about you.” Hunk smiled and shrugged. “Keep in touch, okay? Email or write or phone. It’d be nice to know that the family is doing well, even if I’m not really up to hanging out or letting my boys near you. I don’t hate _you_ , Lance, I just hate what you _did_ and I don’t think I’ll ever get past that. I’m sorry.”

“No, I get it. I did something unforgiveable, and I made it ten times harder for any minor-attracted-person that ever wants to come out to people, because I just reinforced those old stereotypes, and I . . . I hurt Keith. I can’t ever undo that or apologise enough.”

“Yeah, I just wish we could go back in time and undo everything.”

“I’ve wished that every day since I got caught.”

A chill ran through Hunk. He looked to Lance with wide eyes, as he shuddered and saw the sincere regret that was writ all over his features, and yet – as he looked into half-closed blue eyes, with head lowered and lips a thin white line – he wondered where the regret lay. Hunk shook his head and fumbled with his keys in his pocket, until he turned around and desperately sought to undo the car door and make his mistake. He was so lost in his task that he jumped when Lance spoke to him, and half-turned only to keep him in eyesight.

“See you around?” Lance asked.

Hunk paused with his hand upon the handle. He saw Vox’s baseball rolling about the front passenger side, while loose photographs of Rax littered the backseat ready for his school project, and a few wrappers of fast-food stuck out from his glove-box. Hunk half-smiled in the knowledge of how much his family were an ever-present aspect of his life, and then frowned to think of how he could never trust Lance again. Hunk lied in a quiet voice:

“See you around.”


	12. Epilogue: Keith

Keith stirred awake.

The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the large suite in a warm glow that left nothing in shadow, and the view beyond – as he blinked away sleep – revealed the incomparable landscape of New Daibazaal. A beam of light reflected off the smooth stone of the balcony and hurt his eyes. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the arched ceiling; it was the same black that matched the Galra aesthetic, and if there was one downside to such luxury and expense, it was the constant black-and-purple décor. Keith sighed.

A hand fell upon his chest.

He turned his head to see Lotor beside him. The young prince lay with white hair splayed about the many pillows, with eyes half-lidded and lips pulled into a smirk, and Keith – seeing a slight spot of sleep in the corner of his left eye – laughed a little at the sight of his husband in such a natural state. Lotor was naked save for a thin black sheet draped over his waist, low enough that the trail of white hair could be seen from bellybutton to the tip of the groin.

Lotor – even with pillow creases upon his cheek – looked deeply erotic, perhaps even more so for the many imperfections, and Keith struggled to hold back his morning wood, already more than a little aroused. He drew in a deep breath, as those long fingers traced smooth and gentle patterns around his areola, before they tweaked and flicked his nipples into an erect state, and Keith swallowed back a slight cry as his chest flushed red. It was hardly a secret that his nipples were his greatest erogenous zone, a fact Lotor often used to torment him.

Those fingers took the opportunity to trail lower, until they massaged his stomach muscles and tickled lightly upon his sides, and soon Keith experienced a slight pain in his penis, as pre-come leaked profusely from the head onto his abdomen. He quickened his breathing. A warm sweat broke over his skin. The hand went lower and lower, until rationality entered his mind and he shot down his hand to grab Lotor’s wrist and held him still. Lotor respected his wishes and kept still, even going so far to let his fingers curl to make it clear he would not proceed without explicit permission. Keith let out a shuddered breath and hissed:

“I thought I said I don’t want any more kids.”

“True, but do you truly think me the sort to hold intimacy hostage?” Lotor chuckled, as his free hand lifted a human condom slipped between two pillows. “We can continue a dialogue upon the matter of a spare to match our heir later, but – for now – I require my husband to help satisfy my urges. While I am happy to act without you, these things are better with company. Unless – of course – you wish for a show? Me touching myself . . . spread wide.”

The mental image seared itself onto Keith’s mind. He remembered all too well being late from work or from evenings out with Shiro, only to come home to his ‘punishment’ set by Lotor, who was usually naked upon a furred rug centre in the room . . . _‘look, but do not touch, for you have forfeited that right’ . . ._ there were sometimes toys or hot wax to one side, another side handcuffs and a long cane, but always – _always_ – was the sight of Lotor with back arched and fingers deep inside him. Keith mewled and whispered:

“Okay, fair enough. I guess that’s something I can get behind.”

“Or _inside_ as the case may be,” added Lotor.

Lotor growled and flipped them over. He sat astride Keith, both naked and both covered in a light sweat, and Keith’s erection pressed itself firmly between two firm buttocks, where the natural lubrication from Lotor’s hole mixed with his pre-come. Two hands pressed against his chest, forcing him to lay flat and prone and vulnerable. Keith licked at his lips, relishing in the lack of control and the sheer trust at play, and looked up to his lover.

The condom was still between two of Lotor’s fingers, now with cold foil touching upon his skin and warming against his body, and he wanted nothing more than to see Lotor rip the foil apart with his teeth and slide the rubber over his dripping length. If he were lucky, he would feel those warm and wet lips encase his erection, while Lotor used his mouth to push the condom firmly into place. Keith groaned and reached upward to grasp at the bedposts, grateful that Lotor allowed for a human bed in a Galra suite. He wanted more.

He chanced a glance to the windows; the fear lingered that someone might see in from the royal gardens, despite being reassured so often that the technology made them mirrored from the outside, and he squirmed underneath Lotor who leaned down to nip at his lips. Keith opened his lips in search of a kiss, but a noise came from outside their doors. It was muffled and quiet at first, but soon was enough to make both men stop. A voice called through:

_‘Hey, can I come in?’_

The doors opened before they could respond. Thace appeared – eight-years old, still as tall as one several years old – and rubbed at his eyes with a wide yawn, and thankfully he seemed oblivious to how his parents threw themselves at opposite sides of the bed and yanked the sheets up to their chins with dark blushes of embarrassment. Keith was still tucking the sheets in by his sides, when Lotor threw a pillow over his crotch to hide his straining erection, and the two men shared an awkward look, as they struggled to sit upright against the headrest.

Thace was dressed in an old shirt of Keith’s, which touched nearly upon his ankles, while his left hand clung to the arm of a plush toy that Shiro bought him for his birthday. He continued to rub at his eyes while he kicked the doors shut behind him, and wandered over to the bed where he spent so many nights after nightmares and during movie nights and sometimes just to be close to his favourite heroes. Keith swallowed back his annoyance and asked:

“W-What did we say about knocking?”

“I don’t remember,” lied Thace. “I feel really sick.”

“What is wrong, my love?” Lotor asked.

Thace climbed onto the bed beside Keith, who draped an arm around him. The shirt enabled him to avoid skin-to-skin contact, but it didn’t quite seem enough for the boy who crawled over him and threw himself between both parents, and – as Keith rested a hand upon his shoulder – Lotor pulled him close and allowed for a warm embrace. It looked so familial and intimate that it left Keith at a loss for how to comfort the young child. He gnawed at his lip and rubbed firm circles upon Thace’s back, which caused his son’s muscles to relax.

“I have a tummy ache,” mumbled Thace.

“Shiro came back from a summer trip to Earth,” said Keith to Lotor. “He bought a _lot_ of chocolate and candy for Thace, and – judging from fudge matted into his hair – I’m guessing _someone_ ate everything in one night and then fell asleep on the remains.”

“Hmm, does Shiro not miss Earth? It surprises me every time he returns.” Lotor stroked at their son’s hair with a frown. “He does look somewhat pale, does he not? I suppose one day away from his studies will not make too much difference. I have no meetings or work today, so I can stay with him while it purges from his system. How tiresome.”

“Hey, it’s not his fault. It’s a part of growing up, right?”

“I suppose it’s a mistake he won’t make again.”

Lotor looked down to Thace with narrowed eyes, but Thace simply looked back with a sheepish expression and a slight wince to his features. It was rare that he came to them for support with his illnesses, at least since the move from Earth to New Daibazaal, and Keith remembered well how Shiro and Ulaz spoiled him during the first few weeks. There were midnight ice-cream binges in the kitchens, mid-afternoon trips to the park, and early-morning cartoon marathons with the television blaring so loud it was heard through walls.

Keith was grateful, as he stroked loose patterns on Thace’s back. He would never have been able to leave his family, but his family had been willing to leave everything to be with him. It was rough for Shiro, with too many memories of his personal trauma, and – to this day – Keith never knew the full story of Shiro’s past. He simply knew that Sendak was still in exile, as well as that Shiro’s arm would be forever destroyed, and flashbacks pervaded his day-to-day life. Still, any time Keith needed advice, he only needed walk down the hallway of the palace to their suite and knock. He smiled and closed his eyes.

“Hey,” mumbled Thace. “Can I ask a question?”

Keith jolted awake, forced out of his thoughts. Thace curled up on the bed, attempting to get underneath the sheets, but Lotor managed – with great and practised skill – to keep him on top of the sheets and found a discarded blanket at the foot of the bed to pull over him. He nuzzled into it, as he curled up underneath Lotor’s arm, and Keith felt his heart sink into his stomach to see him so unwell and not his usual bubbly self. He blinked away tears and asked:

“What do you want, kiddo?”

“A baby brother.”

Keith choked on the air. He entered a severe coughing fit, while Lotor simply chuckled and smoothed out the locks of black hair from their son’s sweat-covered face. Keith realised his cheeks were bright red, while his body hunched forward and hand hung awkwardly in the air, and he looked between son and husband with flickering eyes. He swallowed hard and made a mental note to call in sick to work, while he ran a hand through tangled locks.

There were quick footsteps outside the door to their suite, followed by even quicker ones and a loud cry, and he suspected that Shiro was chasing after Ren. Keith winced. The memories of those early years rushed back . . . constant attention, continuous demands . . . he curled his lip and narrowed his eyes, until he saw Thace looking up at him with a trembling lip and outstretched hand. Keith sighed and slid down in bed to lie down, and rested a hand on Thace’s leg where he rubbed light circles with his thumb to comfort him. He asked:

“Who’d look after this baby brother?”

“Er . . .  Uncle Shiro?” Thace asked in a confused tone. “He – He looks after me and Ren, and – and – and he lives here, too! Uncle Ulaz always stays here, even when Uncle Shiro goes to Earth, so the baby wouldn’t be alone! Ren’s a baby; I can’t play with him or blame stuff on him or beat him in games, but if I had a baby brother then I could do all that.”

“If you had a brother, he’d still start off as a baby, too,” said Keith. “You know that, right? I thought we had this talk with you ages back. Besides, it’s supposed to be the people who _have_ the baby who look after the baby. I don’t really want to look after a baby.”

“Why not?” Thace asked with a sniff.

“Well . . . ah . . . you were so perfect the first time that no other baby could compete. It’d not be fair on the baby to have a big brother _so awesome_ that nothing they do would ever be as good as you, so we decided to stick to just one really perfect child. That’s all we need.”

“This is also a discussion for the adults,” added Lotor with a kiss to Thace’s head. “We are not saying you will never have a sibling; your father is only twenty-five, and – while that may seem very old to you – I can promise you there are still many years left for a child to be born, should our situation alter and his mind be changed. In the meantime, know that we love you.”

“If we had another child, we’d have to split out attention,” mumbled Keith.

“Ah, yes, that means you would have to share the hugs.”

“And kisses and love and chocolate from Earth.”

Thace dropped his mouth wide open. It was difficult to stifle a laugh, as Keith puffed out his cheeks with the force of holding his breath, but he somehow managed silence as Thace looked between his parents with equally wide eyes. The chocolate may have made him too sick to properly walk, but it was a worthy sacrifice in the eyes of a child. There was still the hint of a chocolate moustache about his lips, while his hands were so sticky they accumulated a layer of fluff, and that was why what he said next surprised Keith.

“I can share,” said Thace.

Lotor laughed long and deep, as he slid down the bed to lie down in turn. He looked Keith in the eyes, even as Thace copied them and threw himself flat on the bed, and Keith was willing to admit that another child like Thace wouldn’t be _that_ bad. At the very least, he knew they would have a lot of fun trying for another. He scratched at his neck and watched as Lotor pulled Thace flush against him for a large hug. Lotor asked:

“Are you happy here, Thace?”

“Sure,” chirped Thace. “Everyone looks like me! They don’t pick on me in school, so I get to talk to other kids. They say my ears are ugly, plus some don’t like that I’m a bit human and a bit Altean, but I just tell them they’re stupid and I’m a prince and if they don’t like me then I’ll send them to an ice planet. One boy cried because he doesn’t like ice.”

“That – That’s a bit too mean,” mumbled Keith. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s my planet. He has to do what I say.”

The pout on his lips was almost adorable. _Almost_. Keith sent a dark glare to Lotor, who looked away with a passive expression, and – as Lotor rolled onto his back – he brought Thace with him, so that the small boy lay across his chest. Thace played with his hair, but Lotor was unable to ignore the way that Keith’s glare intensified. It caused his heart to race, as Keith slid closer, until their bare legs touched beneath the blankets, and soon Lotor was unable to ignore him and turned his head back to meet his gaze.

“I may have failed to teach him duty,” admitted Lotor.

“You think? Isn’t this how Zarkon started?”

It was Lotor’s turn to glare. He narrowed his eyes and slid Thace onto Keith’s lap, before he took one of the sheets and expertly wrapped it around his waist, and – even as Thace’s colour turned and he groaned in pain – a bowl was procured from the bathroom and rushed beside Keith, as if somehow Lotor knew what their son needed before their son knew. Keith rubbed circles upon Thace’s back, as he sat upright and plopped the bowl on Keith’s chest, where he sat astride him and leaned over ready to be sick. Lotor asked, as he dressed:

“Otherwise, are you happy?”

“Yeah, you don’t leave me any more.” Thace rubbed at his eyes with tiny fists. “Papa smiles more, too, and Uncle Shiro and Uncle Ulaz are always here. I’m not lonely, honest; I just don’t like being half-Galra, because people call me names, but I still have friends and the guards are nice to me and my tutors teach me a lot. I like how the sun here is a bit more red, and I like how the air is a bit more cool, and the food tastes much nicer.”

“Hey! I always cooked for you back home,” chided Keith.

“I know,” said Thace. “You can’t cook.”

“Well, at least he’s honest.” Lotor burst out into laughter, as he added: “I had hoped that moving to an exclusively Galra planet would cease with this discrimination, but I suppose that is something we must continue to work upon. Still, I believe it is a worthy sacrifice so as not to abide your awful cookery skills. I guess we still have much to work upon.”

Keith stared hard at Lotor, caught between laughter and insults, but he said nothing as he watched Lotor dress slowly – sometimes even seductively whenever Thace looked away – and mentally cursed how their son required so much of their time. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make for one child, but he knew he couldn’t make that sacrifice for another. He cherished their private time too much. He looked to Thace with a sigh and looked up into blue eyes, while Lotor finally finished dressing and stood to one side. Keith asked:

“But you’re happy, though?”

Thace smiled and pushed the bowl to one side, before he collapsed down upon Keith. Two tiny hands fisted into the sheets around his chest, while a tiny head rested just above his heart, and Keith felt the tiny breaths warm against his skin as Thace quietened down. He raised his hands to rest them upon his son, holding the boy close with a warm smile. There was a heavy scent of cocoa and cologne. It smelled as if he’d doused himself with the liquid.

He remembered letting Thace stand beside him some weeks earlier, as he ‘taught’ his son how to shave with a ruler and a lot of shaving cream, and how Thace wasted the shaving cream every say since to prove how much he learnt. Keith made a mental note to hide the cologne, before he pulled Thace further up and buried his head into the crook of his neck. It brought tears to his eyes. It was true the benefits far outweighed the negatives, which he couldn’t deny as the bed dipped and Lotor say beside him. Thace giggled and said:

“I’m happy, Papa.”

Keith let his tears fall. The truth was that he was more than willing to do the sleepless nights, the diaper changes, and the temper tantrums all over again, because the reality was the laughing babe thrown high and caught with a hug, the drawn pictures with a badly written ‘I love you’ on the back, and the mornings spent cuddling in front of cartoons with a bucket of popcorn sat between them. Keith laughed through his tears, when Lotor asked:

“What about you, my love?”

The silence between them was comfortable, as Lotor reached out to stroke upon Thace’s hair and leaned down to place a kiss to his head, and – as he sat back up – Keith shot out a hand to pull him back down. They shared an intimate kiss to a loud heckle of ‘ew’, before pulling apart with laughter and tears, as Keith nodded and finally uttered the words:

“I’m happy.”

 

 


End file.
